


All Ahead, Full Sail

by durinsheir (ShadowChanger)



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Age of Sail, Alternate Universe - Pirate, Gen, M/M, alternative middle earth history, and a quest, bagginshield, captain thorin has a really rad hat, everyone is human, except when they're not, merfolk, merfolk!bilbo, that's not ambiguous AT ALL, the ring is not evil, with a feather and everything
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-13
Updated: 2017-04-12
Packaged: 2018-01-01 10:08:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 70,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1043557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowChanger/pseuds/durinsheir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"What is this?" the captain growled, his stance wide and threatening on the rocking deck. Bilbo crowded as close as possible to Gandalf, his legs threatening to buckle and pitch him over the side. He already hated the two fleshy appendages - why, oh why, had he agreed to leave the water? He missed his tail.</p><p>"This, Captain Oakenshield," Gandalf replied, nudging Bilbo forward, "is your navigator."</p><p>"Ha! Navigator? He looks more like a merchant to me."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Good Morning

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Mer!bilbo](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/30724) by pandamani. 



The cave was too large, too empty, for him now.

Unmoving and silent, the water weighed heavily on his skin, his scales. Gone was the warmth and light of before, gone was the happiness, gone- gone was everything Bilbo Baggins loved.

The sight of his mother’s conch shell collection resting on a shelf sent him twisting through the water and out of the cavern. The open ocean waited, dark and empty for miles.

Long fronds of seaweed waved up at him from their garden – his garden, now. A strangled shriek ripped from his throat and bubbled to the surface. Bilbo descended on the garden, fully intending to tear every plant from the sand and shred the leaves until nothing remained. As soon as he was amongst the towering stalks of kelp, however, he froze, guilt flowing through him. He sank to the sea floor. The sand was cool and free of rocks; his father was ever the diligent gardener.

The membranous tendrils of his pelvic fins drifted in the gentle current. His tail, the scales turned dull and thin in his grief, curled uncomfortably around the stalks of kelp, but Bilbo did not care enough to shift. A small part of him hoped a shark would come along, or a giant squid. It would be better than living alone.

He had no idea how long he lay in his father’s garden. His mind drifted, and he squeezed his eyes shut against the memories that threatened to smother him. _The churning of the waves, the flashing of lightning above the surface, and the sight of the Fell Sharks closing in on their little refuge –_

_Thud._

Whimpering, Bilbo curled onto his side, his tail scraping uncomfortably against the kelp. Something had hit the sand close by, and he shied away from the noise. A few seconds passed and another something thumped into the sand a scant inch from his tail fins. Growling, Bilbo surged upright, his teeth bared savagely.

Bottles.

The objects were bottles.

Bilbo stopped growling, but his frown remained. One of the surface folk, throwing their disgusting trash into his father’s garden?! He twisted his tail around and was seconds away from streaking to the surface to give whoever it was a piece of his mind when he noticed the parchment inside the bottles.

Curious now, he reached out with thin fingers and picked up the nearest bottle. It was stoppered at the top with a moldy cork. The second bottle, Bilbo noticed after picking it up as well, was sporting a healthy coat of grime as well. He wrinkled his nose in disgust and sighed. There was no point in opening the bottles; the parchment would be ruined in seconds. It was probably a stupid love note from an equally stupid surface-dweller. He had never understood their ways.

One side of the bottles felt rougher than the rest, and he rotated it to make sure he wasn’t touching anything particularly nasty. To his astonishment, he found that the first bottle had the words “TO: BILBO BAGGINS” etched into the glass. The other read “GOOD MORNING.”

The sight of his own name scratched into a surface-object made his heart pound. How could someone know about him? How could they know exactly where he was at that moment? His fins snapped tight to his body and he twisted, sliding deeper into the kelp garden until not even a hint of sunlight was visible. He had not been there ten seconds before a third bottle sank into sight by his left arm. This one read, “OPEN, PLEASE.”

Trembling slightly, Bilbo sat all three bottles upright in the sand next to him. Should he open them? Or should he take his chances and return to his cavern – his empty, cold cavern.

The cork was out of the first bottle almost before he realized it.

The parchment inside was slick, oddly slimy, and the water did not appear to have any effect on it whatsoever. The lines of writing on the parchment were angular and dark, and he squinted until his eyes adjusted to the gloom.

_“My Dearest Mr. Baggins,_

_I am terribly sorry for your loss. Please know that I knew your mother well, and I shall grieve for her for many years to come._

-       _G”_

What? Bilbo read the letter again, then once more, trying to figure out who this “G” was, and why they were writing to him. What sort of surface-dweller could claim to know his mother? Hesitant, he reached for the second bottle and uncorked it.

_“Bilbo Baggins, of Bag End,_

_If you are able, I would like to speak with you on a matter of great importance. I may be found some distance above your garden._

_Good morning,_

_G”_

Incredulous now, Bilbo snatched the parchment out of the final bottle, his eyes racing over the words scrawled there.

_“I mean you no harm, I swear on your dear mother’s name. I only wish to talk.”_

His heart was beating loudly in his chest, and he was certain that every creature for leagues could hear it. It had to be a trick, some plot to trap and kill him. He had heard tales of merfolk being pulled in by surface-dwellers, never to return to the sea. A shudder shook him all the way down to his tail fins.

A small voice whispered in the back of his mind, reminding him that this “G” had sworn on Belladonna’s name. Bilbo could hardly refuse a summons such as that.

It must have been the thought of his mother, the feel of her Took blood pumping sorrowfully through his veins that pushed him out of the kelp garden. His fins eased away from his sides as he swam slowly toward the surface. He could see the shadow of a small surface-vessel floating directly above him, and, with a few flicks of his tail, he slowed to a halt several feet below and to one side of the boat.

The vessel was really very small, he realized. It was only a little longer than his body. Through the distorted surface, he could make out the shape of one land-walker seated in the boat. It was an extremely _tall_ land-walker.

Silently, Bilbo eased his eyes above the surface. He blinked a few times to adjust, his tail curling gently in order to keep him in one place.

The surface-dweller was indeed a tall one, but his extreme tallness could be attributed to the strange, pointed hat he wore. Long, scraggly grey hair hung passed the walker’s shoulders, and an equally scraggly beard sprouted from his chin. Bilbo grimaced. He was suddenly extremely thankful for his smooth, streamlined skin.

Bilbo was about to sink below the rolling waves when the surface-dweller spoke.

“Good morning.”

Eyes wide, Bilbo froze in the water. Should he flee?

The surface-dweller turned in his small vessel to face Bilbo, a kind smile on his bearded face.

“Bilbo Baggins,” he called out, “Do come closer. I only wish to speak with you. I am not a threat, I swear.”

Bilbo remained where he was, his hands clenched into fists by his sides. With a flick of his tail, he rose further out of the water until his head was clear of the waves. Wincing and frowning, he cleared his throat. It had been many months since he had last spoken above-water.

“Who are you?” he asked, his voice cracking.

The surface-dweller smiled, the lines in his face deepening.

"My name is Gandalf! I have been searching for you for many days, Bilbo Baggins.”

"What do you want?"

Still smiling, Gandalf said, "I need your help."


	2. In Which the Wizard is Clearly Insane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo laughed incredulously, “You’re mad, wizard! You can’t give me legs. Even I know those parts of Mum’s stories are just that: stories.” He rolled onto his back, linking his fingers behind his head and staring up at Gandalf.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clearly I'm the insane one here, because what in the world am I doing.

Bilbo gasped, the air clawing its way down his throat. He coughed and flailed in the water for a moment before the thin slits in his neck closed, and seawater spewed from his mouth and nose. Once he was able, he sucked in a huge breath of surface-air, and winced at the feeling of his lungs expanding. He always hated this part of surfacing.

“Gandalf?” he finally asked, keeping his gills well above the waves. “Like the wizard in Mum’s stories?”

The land-walker raised on bushy eyebrow in reply.

Bilbo gaped. “ _You’re_ Gandalf? I had no idea you were even real!”

The wizard frowned briefly, asking, “And what else would I be, if not a real wizard?”

Still keeping his head out of the water, Bilbo swam closer to the wizard’s boat until he was only a tail length away. “I always thought you were just a character in Mum’s ‘adventures.’” Realization struck him. “If you’re real, does that – does that mean Mum’s stories are _true_?”

“Some of them, I’m sure,” replied Gandalf. “Belladonna was so very curious when she was your age. I will miss her dearly.”

Sorrow descended abruptly upon Bilbo, and tears pooled in his eyes. “Yes,” he whispered in agreement. Looking up at the wizard, he cleared his throat a few times before continuing, “Mister Gandalf, I thank you for your condolences. Unfortunately, I have… things, important business, to take care of, so I must take my leave.”

The wizard nodded gravely. “I understand. Before you go, though, there is something I would ask of you.”

Bilbo only looked at Gandalf.

“I need your help with something very important.”

Frowning now, Bilbo motioned for the wizard to continue. The air was starting to dry out his skin, and it itched.

“There is a new king on the nearest shore. He came to power through deception and murder, and is terrorizing the nearby nations,” the wizard began, but Bilbo interrupted him.

“Why should I care about the problems of land-walkers?”

Gandalf scowled mightily. “This king – Azog – desires to conquer both the land and sea, by any means necessary. He knows that there is more to the oceans than mere fish and whales, and he is determined to rule _everything_.”

“He knows – he knows about-”

“About merfolk, and krakens, leviathans, dragons, sirens, selkies, kelpies, and every other creature declared a myth by most. He seeks to control the oceans through them.”

He _knows._ A land-walker, a surface-dweller, _knows_. Bilbo could not breathe for a moment, and drifted into the hull of Gandalf’s boat. He scrabbled with both hands for the side, hauling his torso out of the water to lean onto the worn wood.

“But,” he began once he had caught his breath, “how does he know? We never leave the water, we _can’t_ , and we are always careful when land-walkers are nearby! How can he _know_ about all of us?”

Gandalf shook his head, his expression grim. “I do not know the source of his knowledge. He is a threat to all things, and as we speak, he is roaming the waters with a fleet of warships, searching.”

Terrified, Bilbo twisted around, his eyes roving over the horizon in all directions. He heaved a sigh of relief when he could see nothing but the distant outline of the nearest shore. “What – what are you going to do? Can you stop him?” he asked.

“Alone? No.” Bilbo’s heart sank beneath the waves at this, but the wizard continued. “There is one, however, who actively works against the usurper at every turn. I will be joining him tomorrow.”

Bilbo did not reply immediately. His arms were beginning to ache from holding his body so far out of the water, and he waved his tail rhythmically beneath him, synchronizing him with the movements of the wizard’s boat.

“What can the two of you do against this tyrant?”

“The two of us _and_ the crew of his ship,” Gandalf corrected, a small twinkle in his eye. Bilbo rolled his own eyes skyward.

“Yes, alright, the both of you and a crew on _one_ ship against an entire _fleet_. I don’t see where this is going, wizard.”

Harrumphing, Gandalf leveled one finger at the merman. “It will go nowhere,” he said, “without your help.”

“My help?! What can I possibly do to help?” His arms itched terribly and were starting to shake slightly under the strain of leaning on the boat.

“The captain is an excellent seaman, but he is from foreign shores and has no knowledge of these waters.”

“Then get him a map.”

“Bilbo Baggins!” Gandalf finally snapped. “If it were that simple, do you think I would be out here?”

“Why _are_ you out here, wizard?” retorted Bilbo. “I cannot reveal myself to a ship full of land-walkers, much less lead them around these waters!” He pushed away from the little boat and sank down until only his head remained above the water. A smooth roll of his tail sent him around the edge of the boat, and Gandalf twisted to follow the merman’s path, his eyebrows drawn together on his forehead.

“And what if you could?” the wizard asked suddenly.

“What if I could what?”

Sighing, the wizard gestured at his own legs. “What if you could interact with the crew without revealing your true nature?”

Bilbo laughed incredulously, “You’re mad, wizard! You can’t give me _legs_. Even I know those parts of Mum’s stories are just that: stories.” He rolled onto his back, linking his fingers behind his head and staring up at Gandalf. The wizard smiled and raised one eyebrow.

Dropping his tail, Bilbo surged upright and gripped the sides of the boat. “You’re mad,” he ground out. “That’s impossible and ridiculous, and I will _not_ have any part in it. I am ocean-kind, not a surface-dweller! Take your crazy schemes elsewhere, wizard, for I have no time for them.”

Just as he was pushing away from the boat, Gandalf replied calmly, “The captain will be passing this way sometime in the night.”

“Thanks for the _warning_ ,” spat Bilbo. “And good morning!” He dove beneath the waves, making sure his tail threw up a huge spray in the wizard’s direction.

Insanity! He can’t have _legs_. What a horrid idea. He shuddered as he sped through the depths toward Bag End, the air leaving his lungs in a rush and his gills opening back up. He breathed properly, and shuddered again. That ridiculous wizard may be a _wizard_ , but even he could not give merfolk legs!

Right?

Shaking his head, Bilbo swam faster, streaking over the tops of the kelp garden. He back finned to an abrupt halt, however, when he remembered what had brought him to the surface in the first place. With a growl, he darted amongst the tall stalks and snatched up the three bottles.

He reared up out the water beside the boat, ready to heave the bottles at the wizard’s head.  “Here!” he shouted. “You forgot-”

The thrown bottle connected with the side of the boat, shattering. Bilbo ignored the sound, his mouth hanging open in surprise.

The boat was empty.

The wizard had vanished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the lovely comments and kudos you guys have already left! I really appreciate them :D
> 
> durinsheir


	3. Magically Growing Legs is Still a Ridiculous Idea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm supposed to be studying for chemistry lab practicals and writing an essay but oops oh well. 
> 
> Enjoy :)

Bilbo was determined to remain away from Bag End. He wasn’t sure how long he was going to stay away, and at that moment, he didn’t care.

Right now, he was several leagues away from the cave, the farthest he had ever been by himself. Nothing but the open ocean surrounded him on all sides. He could feel the clicks and chirps of a pod of dolphins, but the sleek creatures were still too far away to lay eyes on. A small shark cut through the water a dozen tail lengths to his left. Bilbo watched the shark warily, but it ignored him.

It was dangerous, he knew, to be alone in the deeps, but he could not find it in himself to worry. The fading sunlight filtered weakly down through the water to cast dappled shadows across his body; he traced the patterns absently as he drifted. Father would have scolded him terribly once he returned to Bag End, had he still been –

Bilbo shook off the thought and shivered. Looking around, he realized he would soon have to either swim home or find somewhere else to spend the night. Even he knew it was a bad idea to sleep out in the open. With a sigh, he began to push through the crystalline water, minding the setting sun and adjusting his course slightly to the east.

Without warning, a massive shadow passed overhead, and Bilbo twisted, his heart pounding wildly.

The ship – because what else could cast a shadow such as that – cut through the water above Bilbo slowly, the line of the keel long and sharp. He could hear the steady rush of the waves flowing around the wood, punctuated by creaks and moans that echoed down through the water.

Frozen in place, Bilbo looked around wildly for somewhere to hide until the ship was out sight. Nothing but smooth sand and the open ocean surrounded him. Maybe… maybe if he stayed below the ship until he was close to Bag End, he would avoid detection. It was his only option, at this point.

He moved over the seafloor, careful to keep directly below the ship. Every second passed agonizingly slowly, and he longed to swim away as fast as he could, away from the ship, away from everything.

Muffled sounds echoed down through the hull of the ship, sounds of land-walkers speaking and shouting. Bilbo cringed and his fins flattened against his body. Silently, he prayed that the ship would turn away.

It was not to be. After two hours of creeping along below the ship, Bilbo spotted Bag End in the gloom just ahead. He glanced up at the ship before judging the distance between him and the rocky crevice at the entrance of his cavern. It was several tail-lengths, but now that the sun had set completely he was confident he could make it.

With a powerful thrust, Bilbo was streaking over the sand as fast as his tail could propel him. He dared not look back, not until he was barreling through the front door and tumbling to a halt in the back of his home. His heart pounded in his chest; his entire body trembled.

Barely a second later, the horrible sound of clanging metal reverberated loudly through the water. Bilbo peered out a small gap in the side of the cavern and gasped.

The ship was dropping anchor – right on top of his father’s garden! Bilbo was outside before he could stop himself, colliding with the large chain. He wound his tail and arms around the chain and _heaved_ with all his might, forcing the anchor to sway to one side before it hit the seafloor with a deafening _thud_.

The anchor’s abrupt change in direction caused the chain to scrape horribly against the side of the ship, and Bilbo looked up to the surface, nearly paralyzed with fear. It was too dark to see anything but the hulking outline of the ship.

Suddenly, the conversation with the wizard came back to Bilbo.

_“The captain will be passing this way sometime in the night.”_

By ‘this way,’ Bilbo had thought he meant the general area, not _right on top of his house!_ He was going to give that wizard a good dunking next time he saw him. Or throw rotten fish at him. Or poke a hole in his little boat.

Or all three.

Probably all three.

Growling softly, Bilbo released the chain and eased over the seafloor to the other side of the ship. He wondered if Gandalf had already met with the captain, and was on the ship right now. There would be no way of knowing, of course, unless the wizard was standing on the upper deck. And there would be no way of knowing _that_ unless Bilbo surfaced.

A quick look wouldn’t hurt, would it? Especially if he only brought his head out of the water and stayed a few tail-lengths away.

It was the knowledge that his mother would have been touching the side of the ship by now that propelled him upward.

The moon was a mere sliver of light, thankfully, but Bilbo still waited for a cloud to cover it before slowly raising his head out of the water. Even though waves sloshed into his eyes every few seconds, he dared not rise any higher above the surface.

It was massive, to his eyes. The side of the ship rose out of the water like the face of a cliff, and the three masts towered into the night sky. He could see the dim shapes of a few land-walkers on the upper deck. None looked in his direction. After a few seconds, Bilbo decided that Gandalf was not onboard, and was slowly sinking back down when a familiar pointed hat came into view.

The wizard emerged from within the ship, one hand holding on to his hat when the wind threatened to take it from him. A gust picked up the end of his beard and threw it in his face, much to Bilbo’s amusement. Once the wizard gathered himself, he approached Bilbo’s side of the ship and peered out over the water.

 _Looking for me, probably,_ he thought, huffing quietly. _The thrice-cursed man is so certain that I will show myself. Ha!_ _Well, I wonder what he’ll think of this!_

Bilbo flipped silently and shot to the seafloor, casting about quickly. Aha! There they were.

Without making a sound, Bilbo surfaced and swam as close as he dared to the ship. Holding his breath, he lifted his torso out of the water and tossed one of the wizard’s glass bottles upward. It sailed right by the wizard’s head, to Bilbo’s delight, and shattered on the wooden deck. The sound attracted the attention of some of the other land-walkers, but the Bilbo was already below the surface and out of sight.

He wound ‘round the anchor-chain slowly, chuckling to himself as he descended. Gandalf was indeed mad to think that he, Bilbo Baggins, a respectable murúch of the Shire, would believe for a second in stories of his kind _growing legs._ Still laughing, he settled onto the sand, careful to avoid the sharp corners of the anchor. A curious design on one plane of the anchor caught his attention, and he traced it with one hand.

Two birds, drawn in a slightly abstract and geometric design, stood back to back. They were different than the gulls and pelicans that frequented his waters; instead of webbed feet and long bills there were clawed talons and heavy, hooked beaks. Bilbo frowned and withdrew his hand. He hoped to never encounter a bird such as _that._

He nearly jumped out of his scales when another bottle dropped to the sand next to him. Incredulously, he pulled out the cork and removed the parchment.

_I suppose you think you’re very clever. Hmph. No matter. You will see soon enough. I will be alone on the deck for the next few minutes if you have any interest in the mission of this ship._

_-G_

Bilbo glared at the parchment and ripped it in half. What did Gandalf mean, he ‘will see soon enough’? And why on Arda would he have any interest in the behemoth floating above him? The damned thing nearly destroyed his father’s garden!

Using the anchor-chain as a handhold, Bilbo pulled himself up through the water until he neared the surface. The ship was close enough to touch, and, out of curiosity, he lightly swiped his tailfins across the wood. He grimaced when his tail came away flecked with algae and set about scrubbing away the offending grime. There was _no way_ he would consider boarding a ship covered in – oh, gracious, what was he thinking? He wouldn’t be boarding _any_ ships, _at all_ , because he was most certainly _not_ capable of growing legs, no matter what the wizard said! And speaking of the wizard… he needed to be informed once again of the insanity of his ideas and sent on his merry way! Then, Bilbo could continue with his life, and he and his parents could –

Oh. Right. Yes.

He surfaced, and, as quietly as possible, expelled the water from his lungs and breathed in the surface-air. Something on board the ship creaked, sending Bilbo to plaster himself to the side of the vessel, algae or no algae, and pray that no one looked over the side. No other sounds emerged, however, so he slowly crept along the side until he was close to where he had initially seen Gandalf.

“Wizard!” he hissed, craning his head backwards in search of the ridiculous pointed hat. There was no reply.

“Gandalf!”

Still nothing.

He cupped his hands around his mouth and was going to risk shouting when a voice said above him, “Did you hear that?”

Bilbo froze, his eyes roving frantically over the side of the ship, searching for the source of the voice.

“Hear what?” a second voice asked. Bilbo once again flattened himself against the side of the ship, his heart pounding and his lungs burning.

“That voice, stupid. I heard someone talking.”

“Kee, go back to sleep. It was probably the wind.”

“’t’wasn’t the wind…”

“Go to sleep.”

The first land-walker grumbled something, and then settled into silence. Bilbo remained frozen against the ship, sure that the entire ship would look over the side and discover him.

No one, not even the wizard (damn him) appeared. Bilbo was about to give up on the whole ordeal when the first voice spoke up again, quieter than before.

“Fíli?”

“Sea-gods, Kee, what is it now?” the second groaned.

“Fine. It’s nothing.”

There was some rustling noises and a thump, followed by a quiet yelp. “Tell me, you numpty.”

“… Do you miss home?” the first land-walker asked, and Bilbo realized how _young_ the two sounded.

The second – Fíli? – answered softly, “Of course I do, Kíli. Of course I do. But we’ll get it back, don’t you worry. I promise we’ll go back.”

“Swear?”

“Uncle Thorin knows what he’s doing, little brother. With him, we’ll be able to go home.”

“And see Mum and Da? And Uncle Frerin?” the younger of the two murmured, his voice on the verge of cracking. Bilbo chewed the inside of his cheek and strained to hear Fíli’s answer.

“Mum, Dad, Uncle Frerin, and everyone else, too. I swear. We’ll fight anyone in our way. The two of us together – we’re unstoppable, remember?”

“Unstoppable,” the youngest agreed, and the two spoke no more.

Bilbo leaned heavily against the ship, a lump in his throat and an uncomfortable prickling sensation in his eyes. He shook his head violently. Where was that ridiculous wizard? He – he had some questions, dammit, and more than a few had to do with certain ideas about _legs._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> murúch - Gaelic word for merrow, which is a type of mermaid. "Said to be gentle, modest, affectionate and benevolent, the merrow is believed to be capable of attachment to human beings." (Thanks, Wikipedia.)


	4. Legs Are Complicated

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in one day! I'm crazy. I suppose this is partly in response to pandamani being my 300th follower on tumblr? /grins/

“ _This_ will give me legs?”

He held up the ring, turning it over and examining it from all angles. The midmorning sun glinted softly off the golden band. It was a rather unremarkable ring, for all that Gandalf claimed it was magical when he had handed it over.

“It will,” confirmed the wizard.

The large ship had sailed on as the sun rose that morning, leaving Gandalf sitting quietly in a familiar little boat. Bilbo, who had returned to Bag End that evening wondering what ‘home’ was to the sad young men on the ship, surfaced next to the boat and flicked water into the dozing wizard’s face.

“We need to talk,” he told Gandalf.

An hour or so later, Bilbo was turning a plain gold ring over and over in his hand and giving the wizard a skeptical glance. At Gandalf’s request, he had hoisted his body out of the water and clambered into the boat. Most of his tail was draped over the side, and he occasionally sent a spray of water over his upper body to delay the itch of his drying skin.

He bounced the ring a few times in his palm. “All I have to do is put on the ring, and I’ll suddenly have legs?”

Gandalf hesitated before answering, and Bilbo leveled a finger at the wizard. “I knew it! There’s more to it.”

“Well… Yes,” said Gandalf. “The transformation is not immediate. Nor is it permanent. If you remove the ring at any point, your tail will return, no matter where you are. The reverse is also true. So, you will have to be careful.”

“What do you mean ‘not immediate?’” Bilbo asked warily. Gandalf averted his eyes for a moment.

“This sort of magic is difficult to perform, even for me. I will not lie to you; the initial transformation will be painful, though I have been informed that going from legs-to-tail is infinitely less so.” The wizard’s tone was frank, but Bilbo noticed that his gaze was slightly apologetic.

“Informed by whom?” he asked.

“Your mother.”

So. The stories _were_ true. He huffed a quiet laugh. Imagine that.

“Before…. Before I consent to this madness, Gandalf, I’ll need to know more about why you need _me_ specifically. Are there not surface-dwellers more suited to this? I don’t know the first thing about ships or navigating – and I certainly don’t know anything about being a land-walker!” He rubbed his itching shoulders against the side of the boat, and frowned at the thought of being dry _all the time_.

A small smile appeared on the wizard’s face as he replied, “The crew are men from all walks of life, if you pardon the expression, that have come together to combat great adversity and strife. The captain seeks revenge for a great wrong done to his family, and his crew is exceptionally loyal to him.”

“And what does any of this have to do with me?”

“None of these men are career sailors. The captain himself has only been at sea for a few months-”

“-and I’ve never been on board a ship in my _life_.”

“Bilbo Baggins, if you would just _listen_ for a moment – I swear to Eru, not even Belladonna was this stubborn.”

Bilbo, suitably chastened, hunched his shoulders and scratched idly at his arm.

Harrumphing, the wizard continued, “Now, as I was saying – the captain seeks something on this side of the world, and your advanced knowledge of this ocean will be invaluable to his quest.”

Bilbo wanted to tell the wizard that _unless what this captain was looking for happened to be under water, he wasn’t sure how his ‘advanced knowledge’ would be helpful_ , but he held his tongue. There was no sense in angering the wizard.

“If I do this,” he said instead, “and it all goes to hell-” he looked up at Gandalf meaningfully “- I can always just take off the ring and come home, right?”

Gandalf opened his mouth to reply, shut it, and frowned.

“ _Right, Gandalf?_ ” Bilbo repeated through clenched teeth.

Finally, the wizard nodded. “You can, though… if you do, you will not be the same.”

Bilbo looked into the wizard’s eyes for several seconds and saw the truth in that statement. It terrified him. The memory of his mother nudged him in the ribs and made encouraging motions. Bilbo sighed. If Belladonna had done it, why couldn’t he?

“Okay,” he whispered. “Alright. I’ll do it.” He held up the ring and lined it up with his finger. The sun reflected brightly off the golden band. Casting one final look over his beautiful green and yellow scales, Bilbo Baggins put on the ring.

“Ah, before – well…” Gandalf mumbled suddenly, frowning. Bilbo looked up at him incredulously.

“What?”

“Have you eaten in the last several hours?”

“Have I – well, no, I haven’t, but what does that have to do with anything?” inquired Bilbo.

Gandalf sighed, relief tingeing the gusty breath. “No matter, you would have thrown it all up anyways. I suggest you brace yourself”

“Brace myse- ahhh, yes, ouch – Gandalf, what do I – _sweet Yavanna that hurts!_ ” The pain started low on his abdomen, right at the point where scales became flesh, and streaked downwards to the tips of his tail. Gritting his teeth, he pressed down on the bend in his tail in an attempt to alleviate some of the hurt. If anything, the pressure made the pain _worse_. He cast a frightened look over at the wizard, but Gandalf only sat there, a mournful look on his face.

When his scales began to drop off, he clenched his teeth to hold back a shout. His lovely, golden-green scales flaked away by the handful. As soon as the first few hit the bottom of the boat, the pain increased tenfold, a long line of stabbing, ripping pain straight down the middle of his tail. Something _snapped_ in his lower body, drawing a strangled shriek from his lips, followed by a horrible, grinding shift of bone and muscle.

Without warning, Bilbo tasted bile in the back of his throat, and just barely avoided vomiting all over himself. There was blood in his vomit, he noticed distantly as he curled on his side, moaning. Bone continued to shift beneath his skin, grating and snapping into place. He screwed his eyes shut – he couldn’t watch what came next, refused to witness the horror.

He could still feel every moment, though.

The rupture started at the bend in his ruined tail before widening in either direction. The sound was horrifying, wet and loud in the oppressive surface-air.

 

This time, Bilbo did not hold back his screams.

 

* * *

 

“Breathe, my dear boy, just breathe,” Gandalf murmured soothingly. His voice filtered through Bilbo’s fractured mind as he struggled to regain consciousness. “Take a deep breath.”

Bilbo complied, the air rushing down his raw throat and filling his lungs to bursting before streaming back out through his nose. His whole body ached, from the crown of his head to tip of his tail – his _tail_. With a strangled gasp, he surged upright and looked down at himself in horror.

His tail was gone.

Gandalf was right. The ring had taken away his tail.

With trembling hands, he hesitantly touched the faintly pink skin that started at his hips and ran all the way down the two legs.

Legs.

Oh, Eru, he had _legs_. And feet!

Wildly, Bilbo looked around for his flaked-off scales and the blood he knew should be coating the bottom of the little boat. His tail had _split in two_ , for Yavanna’s sake, how was there no blood?!

“The magic of the ring prevents extensive outward injury,” Gandalf supplied, sensing the merman’s questions. “And I disposed of the scales.”

“Gandalf,” rasped Bilbo once he found his voice, “I have legs.”

“Yes, you do.”

“Legs. And feet. And _toes_.”

“All of those, yes.”

Quickly gaining control of himself, Bilbo touched every part of the new appendages that he could reach, marveling at the smooth skin. He wanted to take a closer look at the feet, but he couldn’t quite figure out how to move the legs…

“Oof,” he huffed as he tumbled to the bottom of the boat. The legs were splayed awkwardly, and he grinned triumphantly when he moved them both to one side. The bend in each leg was in the same place it had been in his tail, as was the bend at the bottom of the two appendages. With a great deal more concentration than expected, he was able to bend both legs until the knees were close to his chest. It took a few moments to figure out the mechanics, but eventually he unbent the legs until they lay, nearly straight, in the bottom of the boat.

“I think I’ve got it,” he told Gandalf.

The wizard chuckled and raised his eyebrows. “You will have to _walk_ , you know?”

“Ah. Right. Just a moment.”

The next few minutes were spent trying to get the legs underneath his body. It was difficult and more than a little frustrating. More than once, Bilbo resorted to picking up both legs and shifting them with his hands. He grumbled irritably to himself as he moved.

“It might help to remember that each leg can move independently of the other,” Gandalf commented idly from his end of the boat.

Bilbo sighed, “Of course. Yes.”

It took him entirely too long, in his opinion, to sort out the legs. The sun was directly overhead and moisture was beginning to appear on his now-dry skin when he finally got both feet flat on the bottom of the boat. Using the sides of the boat as a prop, Bilbo slowly and shakily pushed himself upward, the legs unbending until he stood up straight. The boat rocked a little bit and he leaned precariously to one side, but one leg shifted to compensate automatically.

“Good gracious,” he whispered, marveling at the two appendages. “Look at me.”

“I am,” responded the wizard dryly, “though, I am obligated to remind you that you are stark naked.”

“I’m what?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments, kudos, etc!!!
> 
> durinsheir


	5. Clothes Are Ridiculous

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BEFORE YOU READ A SINGLE WORD OF THIS CHAPTER, YOU MUST SEE THE AMAZING ART.
> 
> http://bolsondelabolsa.tumblr.com/post/67386961031/merman-bilbo-and-captain-thorin-inspired-by-all
> 
> and 
> 
> http://pandamani.tumblr.com/tagged/merbilbo
> 
> Okay. Now you can read.

Clothes. What a ridiculous concept.

“I don’t like this anymore,” he said (not whined, thank you very much) while picking at the sleeve of his shirt for the hundredth time. Gandalf had given up responding after about the third complaint.

They were closer to land than Bilbo had ever been, and he avoided looking at the shore as it neared. Instead, he fidgeted at his end of their little boat, wriggling his toes and flexing each muscle in his new legs in turn. The ring was an unfamiliar weight on his hand, and he fiddled with it constantly, rotating it and stroking the warm metal. Memories of the change were still in the forefront of his mind; he shuddered at the phantom feeling of shifting bones and rending flesh. _Best to live in the present, Bilbo,_ he told himself, and pulled the front of the shirt away from his chest.

Earlier, Gandalf had helped him struggle into the clothes he seemingly pulled out of thin air, and the fabric was unexpectedly stiff and scratchy on Bilbo’s skin. Currently, the wizard was watching the oars as they rowed _by themselves_. Bilbo was once again reminded that the wizard could do more than carry around magic rings.

Suddenly, the oars ceased rowing. Gandalf looked expectantly at Bilbo.

“What?”

“You should practice,” the wizard said.

“Practice? I’ll be on a ship with _sails_ , won’t I?”

The wizard gave him another _look_ , and Bilbo sighed as he gripped the oars awkwardly and began to row.

“Why couldn’t we have waited back there?” he huffed after a few minutes of silence. “Do we have to go on land?”

Gandalf let out an exasperated sigh. “And how would I explain your presence to the captain? ‘Oh, yes, well, he swam all the way out.’ You would be thrown overboard within seconds, and all of this will have been for naught. So, yes, we have to go ashore. There are a few things that you will need before we meet the captain.”

“Like what?”

“You shall see.”

“Yes, I suppose I shall, but would it hurt to know before we get there?” he asked pointedly.

Gandalf ignored him.

The shore was so close, now. Bilbo could see the outlines a few docked ships, though none were half as large as the one he was supposedly going to be employed on. The shapes of dozens of land-walkers came into view as well, and Bilbo suppressed a shudder. He was going to have to toughen up, dammit, and act like he _belonged_.

“I’ll take over from here, my boy,” Gandalf said, removing the oars from Bilbo’s hands before he could protest. The merman (man? Merman-with-legs? Man-that-can-also-have-a-tail? Bilbo grimaced.) sat back, his attention quickly caught by the actions of the land-walkers. They moved so quickly on their feet, so sure of their destinations! Some moved faster than others, and some distant memory of his mother’s stories supplied the word: run. Two surface-dwellers were running down the longer dock, the sound of their laughter mingling with the cries of the hovering gulls. They were children, Bilbo noticed once their little boat moved in amongst the other vessels.

The adult land-walkers ignored the children, loading and unloading parcels from the boats. These land-walkers were male, if the features of Bilbo’s own kind were anything to go by. The ones hauling cargo were dressed in muted colors, all sand and dead coral. Their shirts were loose fitting, and some weren’t wearing shirts at all. Bilbo looked at Gandalf pointedly. The wizard continued to ignore him as he steered their little boat closer to one of the docks.

A flash of color caught Bilbo’s eye, and he craned his neck to see around a small group of land-walkers. Two males stood together with their backs ramrod straight. _Their_ clothes were much nicer looking; they were clad in identical outfits of tall, black boots, cream colored trousers, and brilliant red coats. Both were carrying long black pieces of wood in their arms, and the shorter had another black stick hanging from one hip.

“What are they?” Bilbo asked, nodding his head in the direction of the two men.

“Hm? Oh, those are soldiers.”

Soldiers. Bilbo knew that word. He wrinkled his nose in distaste; it had been _generations_ since soldiers were needed amongst his folk, thankfully.

“And those sticks they’re carrying?”

“Weapons.”

Bilbo waited for a more specific explanation, and was rewarded when Gandalf continued, “They both are carrying firearms – guns – and the shorter man has a sword. The guns are long range weapons, and I am assuming you know how a sword works?”

“I do.”

And he did. Old Took had kept some in his cavern, ages ago. They were from a sunken ship, he had told Bilbo quietly one day. A sunken ship full of soldiers and their weapons of destruction, all pulled down to the dark depths of the sea for their cruelty. Bilbo had sliced open the palm of his hand on one when he younger. He still had the scar.

“Those are the king’s marines, specifically,” murmured Gandalf, “and it would be best if we do not draw attention to ourselves.”

“The tyrant?” Bilbo whispered. Gandalf nodded and shushed him. After a few more strokes of the oars, the wizard maneuvered their boat alongside a low dock. He tossed a short length of rope around a post and knotted it swiftly. With nimbleness that belied his age, Gandalf leapt from the boat to the dock and held out a hand to assist Bilbo.

He managed to step onto the dock without falling over the side, thankfully. The new legs threatened to disobey him at every movement, but Bilbo willed them to work. Letting go of Gandalf’s hand, he slowly straightened, and, taking a deep breath, walked forward – and promptly fell forward onto one knee.

“Confound it,” he hissed, clumsily standing back up. His knee throbbed. Gandalf held out another helping hand, but Bilbo waved him away. He would do this alone, here and now, or he would never do it at all.

Everything around him felt so flat and stationary, and the balance he never thought he’d need was thrown off by the lack of rolling water. He took another deep breath. _Start small_ , his mind whispered, the voice sounding an awful lot like his father.

“Right. Start small,” he repeated aloud. Left leg first. Brace weight on right leg. Lift left heel, then the toes, bend knee, swing foot forward. Put foot down. Redistribute weight. Repeat with opposite leg.

An unfamiliar voice interrupted his concentration, nearly sending him to his knees again. “Alright there, lad?”

Bilbo looked around in alarm, his eyes flitting from Gandalf to the swiftly approaching land-walker. It was a male, one of the group Bilbo had previously seen loading the boats.

“Um,” began Bilbo, his voice pitched high with fear. Gandalf’s hand gripped his shoulder, silencing him.

“We’ve been at sea for many days,” the wizard told the land-walker, “and he is still trying to find his land legs.” The land-walker nodded knowingly, a crooked grin splitting his bearded face.

“Oh, aye, I know all about that! The name’s Bofur, by the way.” He thrust out his hand at Bilbo, still smiling. Bilbo stared at the offered hand curiously before Gandalf mouthed ‘shake it’ and mimed grabbing the hand behind Bofur’s back.

“Oh!” Bilbo said, his heart pounding, and gripped Bofur’s hand. “I’m Bilbo. Bilbo Baggins. This is-”

“-Gandalf,” finished Bofur, his grin morphing into a sly smirk. “Oh, don’t look so surprised, wizard! We’ve been told to watch for you.”

Gandalf frowned thunderously at the land-walker. “Well,” he harrumphed, “I had hoped to at least reach the inn first.”

Rolling his eyes, Bofur clapped a hand on Bilbo’s back and ushered him forward. Bilbo stumbled a few times, but managed to move his feet in the right direction. The man spoke as they walked, “I’ve been told to escort you.”

“Of course you have,” muttered Gandalf.

Bofur continued speaking over the wizard, “We’re all anxious to meet the newest member of the company! Gandalf has been singing your praises for days, laddie, so a few of us have started a wager. You are a slim one, aren’t you? And by the sea-gods, son, you aren’t wearing shoes! And not a weapon to speak of, tsk tsk. I suppose Gandalf is going to supply you? If not, Nori and I can fix you right up, don’t you worry your golden head…” He chattered unceasingly all the way to where the dock became the street. Without slowing, he led Bilbo into the crowd of land-walkers moving through the street. Except for a quick ‘watch your step’ between breaths, the man continued to ask questions without waiting for answers. Bilbo could only watch, awestruck, and try not to fall dawn. The bottoms of his new feet ached slightly, as did the backs of his legs. His pain was forgotten, though, once they moved into the city proper.

Structures of stone, wood, and brick towered over their heads on either side of the street. Bilbo nearly fell backwards trying to look at the design of every building. Land-walkers moved up and down the street all around him, all of them different. Large animals with four long legs cut through the crowds, some with men sitting on their backs and some hitched to wheeled contraptions. _Horses_ , his mind supplied. There had been horses in a few of Mother’s stories.

Bofur noticed his awestruck companion and laughed aloud, “What, you ain’t never seen a city before?”

“”I – well, no. I haven’t,” Bilbo replied hesitantly. “It’s amazing what land- um, people, can do.”

The man raised one quizzical eyebrow. “You really aren’t from this part of the world, are you? Gandalf warned us, but… well.”

Slightly affronted now, Bilbo crossed his arms and pursed his lips. “Of course I’m not from ‘this part of the world.’ I’m a m- erm, I’m a navigator, not a land-walker.” He kept his gaze glued to the street in front of him, hoping Bofur hadn’t noticed his slip up. Gandalf was silent behind him, but he could feel the wizard watching him.

“A life spent on the sea, then?” Bofur laughed, shaking Bilbo with the arm still wrapped around his shoulders. “I can respect that.” He led them off the main street and down twisting alleyways until Bilbo felt utterly lost. They halted when they arrived at a tall metal door with no knob.  

“The back door, really, Bofur?” muttered Gandalf.

“Yes, well, the front’s being watched, ain’t it?” the man replied, banging his fist on the door three times. After a moment, a slot in the middle of the door opened to reveal two wary eyes.

“Who’s that?” the owner of the eyes asked.

Bofur sighed, “It’s me, Ferris. Open up.”

“You gotta say the password.”

“Password? Oh, come on, Ferri, it’s just me! Nori knows I’m bringin’ guests, now open up.” Bofur kicked the bottom of the door, and Bilbo looked worriedly over at Gandalf. The wizard was grumbling angrily to himself and did not notice.

Ferris whined, “I can’t, you know the rules! Everyone’s gotta give the password, Spymaster’s orders!”

Smirking, Bofur leaned closer the door, the arm around Bilbo tugging the merman down with him. “Aye, and I’m buggering the Spymaster, so I think that should trump the password, don’t you?” He chuckled when Ferris’ eyes widened.

To be so forward when surrounded by strangers! Bilbo could scarcely believe the words coming out of Bofur’s mouth. His ears burned, and he could feel the flush crawling all the way down his neck.

An indignant cry of protest came from the other side of the door. Ferris disappeared in a way that suggested he had been shoved, and the door sprang open.

“That’s hardly fair!” the newcomer scolded, reaching out and grabbing the front of Bofur’s shirt with both hands. A strong pull had the man stumbling forward, his arm slipping off of Bilbo’s shoulders, and into a rather – ahem – passionate embrace.

Bilbo instantly averted his eyes while the two kissed, blushing horribly.

“Hmmm… Who’s this, then?” the new voice asked after a moment, and Bilbo deemed it safe to look. The man was taller than Bofur by a few inches, though it may have been the mass of hair that gave him the added height. It was a ridiculously unruly mop, the red color nearly identical to the hardy coral growing near Bag End, and several tufts were escaping from where it had been braided back.

“Who d’ya think?” Bofur replied, turning in the other’s arms to face Bilbo and Gandalf.

The redhead peered closely at the merman over Bofur’s shoulder, his expression slowly morphing into a frown. “No,” he said.

“Yep.” Bofur nodded.

“Him?”

“Mhm.”

Grimacing, the redhead jabbed an elbow in Bofur’s side. “This means I owe you money, doesn’t it?”

Bofur ignored the jab and smirked, and the other groaned. Gandalf, meanwhile, was scowling and clearing his throat pointedly.

Taking the hint, Bofur ushered them both inside, talking non-stop as he did so. “Bilbo, this slightly less rich gent is Nori. Love, this is Bilbo Baggins. Oh, and that surly young thing over there is Ferris, the doorman. Say ‘hello,’ Ferri. Good boy. I always liked him, Nori, can’t you give him something more interesting to do?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because you like him.”

Bofur sighed, and Nori shoved him into the wall playfully before darting further up the hall. Bilbo, his head practically spinning from the entire exchange, looked up at Gandalf with wide eyes. The wizard merely shook his head and murmured something along the lines of ‘madness.’ Bilbo was inclined to agree.

“Come along, navigator!” came Bofur’s shout from ahead. “You’ve got things to do, questions to answer, and people to meet!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As per usual, if you want to discuss plot or share ideas, my tumblr askbox is always open!
> 
> durinsheir.tumblr.com
> 
> Thank you so much for the comments, kudos, and bookmarks!!
> 
> duri


	6. Boots Are Ridiculous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Right. Um, and what’s a spymaster, exactly?”
> 
> “Not a spymaster. The Spymaster. Or Lord Underworld, if you prefer.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is hella long, because you guys deserve it. Also, I thought I was going to have Bilbo on the ship by now, but I accidentally OC'd. Oops? Next chapter, I swear. Prepare yourselves for a wealth of terminology and loving descriptions of rope, cloth, and wood.

“Gandalf,” Bilbo hissed, “who are these men?” The wizard put a consoling hand on Bilbo’s shoulder and began to lead them up the hall after Bofur and Nori.

“Ah, well, Bofur is a member of the crew you will be joining. He is the – hmm, oh, I forget what his actual job is… No matter.”

“And Nori? Bofur’s – um.”

The door warden, Ferris, appeared at Bilbo’s side like a shadow. “Bofur ‘n Nori are lovers. Nori is Spymaster.”

Once Bilbo had slowed his pounding heart, he glared at the young man. “Aren’t you supposed to watch the door?”

“My shift just ended,” Ferris deadpanned, his gaze fixed directly in front of them.

“Right. Um, and what’s a spymaster, exactly?”

“Not _a_ spymaster. _The_ Spymaster. Or Lord Underworld, if you prefer.”

Bilbo made a ‘go on’ motion with his hands, and Ferris sighed quietly, “He holds dominion over all civilized criminal activity in Eriador.”

It was the world ‘criminal’ that opened Bilbo’s eyes to the building and it’s occupants. Ferris was dressed in close-fit trousers and shirt, both a mottled grey color that allowed the man to fade in and out of the shadows. His boots were soft soled and hardly made a sound as he walked. The hilt of a knife poked out of the top of each boot; Bilbo was sure that there were numerous others scattered about the man’s person. Nori had been dressed similarly, he recalled, though Bofur was wearing the simple attire of a dockworker.

Bilbo turned away from Ferris to glare at Gandalf. “ _I did not sign up to consort with thieves and vagabonds!”_ he hissed. A firm hand on his elbow caused his heart to skip a beat and he looked back to find Ferris leaning into his personal space.

“Mr. Baggins,” the man said, his voice soft and emotionless, “I understand that you’re a foreigner in our fair city, so I’ll ‘ave to ask that you please remember that what we do here is nothing more than what is absolutely necess’ry. We do not steal for personal gain, nor are we common highwaymen.” The door warden’s eyes, Bilbo noticed, were the color of the night-waters, and what could not be felt through his voice, Bilbo saw there in the murky depths.

“O-of course,” he stammered, “I – I apologize. I did not know.”

Like flipping a switch, a grin tugged at Ferris’ thin lips and he released the merman’s arm. “Like you said, Mr. Baggins, you didn’t know.” _But now you do. Do not make the same mistake again._ It was unsaid, but Bilbo read it in the other’s gaze nonetheless. He swallowed and nodded jerkily.

“This way,” Ferris continued, cutting in front of them and beckoning with one hand. “Spymaster’s waiting.”

 

* * *

 

The room Ferris led them through was packed with land-walkers of all shapes and sizes, and Bilbo nearly lost himself for a moment at the sight. Several tables were packed with males eating and drinking. The noise level was tolerable, though that may have been an attribute to their entrance. Nearly every land-walker in the room stopped what they were doing to look at the trio.

“Alright there, Ferri?” one asked. He was dressed in nearly identical clothes as the door warden, as were many of the room’s occupants, Bilbo noticed fearfully, and some carried swords and other weapons.

“Guests,” Ferris replied without stopping. “The wizard… and the navigator.” A collective groan emerged from about half the room, while the other half sported triumphant grins. There was a clinking of metal as coins began to change hands all over the room.

“Did _everyone_ make bets about me?” Bilbo asked, incredulous. Ferris snorted and smirked.

“Most did, yes.”

“What did they bet on?”

“Oh, practic’lly everything. Age, height, weight, general appearance. A few thought you might be female. Some didn’t think you would come at all, and others thought you would be a fraud.”

“And what about you? Did you wager?” Bilbo inquired, slightly indignant. Female, indeed.

A small pouch came flying across the room toward them, and Ferris snatched it out of the air before it could collide with his head. Grinning at the merman, he pocketed the coins. “The wizard’s generally correct,” was his only explanation.

As they moved out of the large room and down another corridor, Bilbo whispered angrily at Gandalf, “What all did you tell them about me?!”

“The truth, my dear boy,” came the cryptic answer. Bilbo muffled a groan and moved ahead of the infuriating wizard. What in the world had he gotten himself into? He could almost hear his mother laughing at him in his thoughts.

 

* * *

 

“Take a seat, laddie,” Bofur called out from opposite the circular table. Ferris shut the door behind them and leaned against it. At the table, only two chairs were empty, and Bilbo allowed Gandalf to choose first. The merman nervously glanced around at the unfamiliar faces and managed a weak smile once he was seated.

“Um, hullo,” he said.

A chorus of ‘hellos’ echoed back, after which Nori stood from where he was sitting across from Bilbo.

“Gentlemen, ladies,” he began, and Bilbo had to take a second look at the land-walkers in the room. Indeed, nearly half of them were female, though it had been impossible to tell at first glance. Nori continued, “The wizard promised the company a navigator, and he has brought us the first candidate.” He nodded in Bilbo’s direction. “Introduce yourself, son.”

Swallowing his nervousness, Bilbo rose unsteadily to his feet. He braced his hands against the table and cleared his throat. “My – ahem – my name is Bilbo Baggins.”

“And you aim to be our navigator, Master Baggins?” asked another land-walker. This one was older than the rest and hand a long white beard sprouting from his chin.

Bilbo cast a nervous glance at Gandalf. “I do. Yes.”

“Why?”

“I beg your pardon?”

The white-bearded man crossed his arms over his chest and repeated the question. “Why do you want to be our navigator?”

The question threw Bilbo for a moment, and he gaped at the man. Someone cleared his or her throat pointedly. Shaking his head, the merman swallowed and thought for a moment.

“Well. I – I suppose… Gandalf told me you needed help, and I know the ocean better than anyone at this table.”

A few of the land-walkers snorted, and one called out, “I sincerely doubt that. Just look at him! He’s too skinny and too pale to know much about the sea.”

“Aye, but you didn’t see him on the docks today,” Bofur told them. “Stumblin’ about like he’d never stepped foot on land a day in his life! He still walks like he’s on a ship, all rolling strides and careful steps.”

 _Do I really?_ Bilbo wondered, looking down at his legs.

“Right. And next we’ll be expected to believe he was born at sea,” another man scoffed.

“I was,” replied Bilbo, confused when several of the land-walkers rolled their eyes. What was so unbelievable about that?

One of the land-walkers shoved backwards from the table and stood, glaring at Bilbo. He leveled a finger at the merman before turning his gaze to the others. “This is ridiculous. This landsman is no navigator, no matter what he or that _wizard_ tells you. What does he know of the sea? Nothing, I’d wager,” he spat on his way to the door. “Out of the way, doorman.” He was reaching for Ferris when Bilbo finally decided he’d had enough of this, thanks very much.

“You’d lose that wager, land-walker.”

The man turned, a sneer on his ruddy face. Behind him, Ferris smirked and palmed the knives he had quietly drawn.

“What did you call me?”

Bilbo turned to face the man directly. “Did you know, _land-walker_ , that there are twenty-seven individual living and four dead reefs within a day’s swim of this shore? In the North, there is trench deeper than the island of Weathertop is long, and _I_ would wager you have no idea what creatures live at the bottom. In my life, I have witnessed over a dozen warships destroy each other and be claimed by the depths. I know the currents, I know the weather, and I know the winds. Do not question what you do not understand, surface-dweller, and _never_ doubt my knowledge of my own home.” He took a deep breath and curled his hands into fists to keep them from trembling. All eyes in the room were on him, but he did not look away from the man at the door.

The land-walker looked away first and spat on the floor in disgust. “This means nothing!” he said, pointing at Nori. Turning, he made to shove Ferris to the side, but the smaller man reached out in a movement almost too fast to see and twisted his arm painfully.

“Ferris,” Nori scolded quietly, and the land-walker was promptly released. Cursing, he flung open the door and stormed out. Ferris shut it quietly behind him and resumed his former position against the wood.

Nori sat, steepling his fingers in front of him. “You may sit, Mr. Baggins,” he said, nodding at the merman. Bilbo gulped and nearly collapsed in the chair. He could hardly breathe, his heart was beating so quickly. Beside him, Gandalf laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. He glanced up uncertainly. The wizard nodded once before removing his hand.

“I – I apologize,” Bilbo blurted. “I – he caught me off guard. I never should have-”

Bofur interrupted him, one corner of his mouth curled upward. “Hush, laddie. If anyone’s in the wrong, it’s Bror. You’re our guest, and he treated you most foul.”

“He’ll be taken care of,” remarked Nori calmly, before leaning forward in his seat. “Now, then, someone with a map on them, verify Mr. Baggins’ information.”

A female land-walker soon had a large piece of parchment spread out on the table in front of her. She murmured to herself and traced a finger along the shapes drawn on the parchment before speaking.

“He mentioned more reefs than we have drawn here, but there is a trench that could be the one he spoke of,” she said. “We have no way of knowing its true depth, though.”

Nori nodded. “Sounds good. Mr. Baggins, how soon can we expect you to be ready?”

What?

“Be ready for what?”

“To depart, of course.”

Bilbo gaped, the breath leaving his body in one loud gasp. Those remaining at the table chuckled.

“But, I – I’m-”

“You’re hired, laddie. Balin? The contract?” Bofur waved a hand at the man with the white beard, who then pulled out a stack of folded parchment. The parchment was passed around the table until Gandalf spread it out before Bilbo. The man next to him passed him a feather and a small bottle.

“It’s all the usual things,” Balin remarked. “Expected duties, projected timeline, expenses, et cetera.”

“Of course,” murmured Bilbo, grasping the quill awkwardly in his left hand. He tried to recall what his mother had taught him years ago. They had used slivers of driftwood and traced in the sand, though, not a feather and ink. His signature ended up slanted and a great deal messier than he wanted, but it was enough for the land-walkers. A cheerful cry went up around the table when he replaced the quill in the bottle, and Bilbo smiled in response.

“Wonderful! Now, he’ll be needing supplies, if I’ve been told correctly?” Nori looked questioningly at Gandalf. The wizard nodded.

“I will be happy to pay for anything needed,” Gandalf began, but the Spymaster waved him away.

“Nonsense. Ferris, gather up what you can for Mr. Baggins. Boots, obviously, and some new clothes. And a coat, I think? Oh, and see if we have any belt knives to spare.”

The list went on, but Bilbo wasn’t paying attention. Instead, he was staring in awe at his own two hands. What had he done? He hadn’t even read the contract all the way through before slapping down his name! It was exactly the sort of mischief his mother got into when she was younger, for Took’s sake. The thought made him smile, and he did not stop grinning until much later, when Gandalf was shoving the boots over his feet.

“Ouch!”

“Hold still. You’re acting like a child.”

“Why do I have to wear these ridiculous things? They’re _heavy_ ,” he groaned, struggling to lift one already booted foot off the floor. They were brown, made of leather, and the tops came nearly to his knees. At least they weren’t hideous.

“Humans wear shoes.”

Bilbo snorted, “Yes, well, I’m not a land-walker! _Ouch!_ ” Gandalf gave a particularly forceful shove on the boot, sending it over Bilbo’s heel.

Sitting back, the wizard looked up at him. “Bilbo.”

“Gandalf.”

“You are not a man, but you _must_ act as one. These men… they have suffered many hardships, and do not trust easily. If you are strange to them, they will dismiss you and possibly dispose of you. I urge you to use caution around them.”

Hanging his head and touching the tops of the boots hesitantly, he replied, “You’re right, as always. I will – I will try to be careful.” Gandalf’s wrinkled hands covered his, and Bilbo looked up to see the wizard smiling gently.

“You will be fine, my boy.”

Bilbo nodded. “Can you – Can I have a moment alone?” he asked.

“Of course.” The wizard stood, collected his hat, and left the small bedroom Bilbo had been allotted for the night. When the door clicked shut, the merman let out an explosive breath and collapsed backwards onto the mattress. What an odd concept, a mattress. Not uncomfortable, though. Maybe the ideas of land-walkers weren’t all ridiculous.

He rolled to one side and muffled a yelp when he came face to face with… himself.

“Oh, stop that,” he scolded himself. “It’s only a looking glass.”

The mirror was a tall one, nearly as tall as Bilbo when he stood in front of it. There was a looking glass in Bag End, but it was a small one and hardly ever used. _You cut quite the figure, Bilbo Baggins,_ he marveled at his reflection, pulling at the sleeves of the new dark green coat and smoothing out the wrinkles in his trousers. The knife sheathed at his waist made him nervous to look at, but Ferris had insisted when delivering the new gear.

As always, his attention was drawn to the legs that now sprouted from his hips instead of a green-gold tail. They seemed thin, but, then again, who was he to judge the way _legs_ looked. The muscles still felt strange, as did certain – ahem – _other_ bits that were not previously exposed in such a manner. He shied away from the thought of land-walker copulation. _That_ was something he did not plan on taking part in, not at all.

The shaking of his head drew his eyes upward to the unruly nest of hair. Underwater, it had always floated in a pleasant cloud; here, however, it curled and was forever tickling his ears and falling in his eyes.

He was attempting to rake the locks back with both hands when a loud bang cut through the silence. The noise was followed by shouting from downstairs (another adventure with his legs, he recalled) and the ringing of metal on metal. His door sprang open and crashed against the wall, and he opened his mouth to scream, but it was only Bofur and Gandalf.

“Change of plans, laddie!” Bofur told him, grabbing the satchel with Bilbo’s other clothes off the bed in one hand and the merman’s arm with the other. “Not to worry, Nori’s handlin’ it!” There was a hint of desperation in his voice as he hauled Bilbo out the door and down the hall. Men ran by them, drawing swords and long knives as they moved toward the commotion.

“What’s going on?” Bilbo shouted, willing his legs to move faster as Bofur pulled him down a flight of stairs.

“Marines,” came Gandalf’s terse reply. At the bottom of the stairs, Balin and another man waited anxiously. Bofur finally released Bilbo’s arm and moved to the front of the group. Shushing them, he led everyone down a narrow corridor, through a few empty rooms, and out a back window. They ran without stopping for what felt like ages, Bofur directing them around corners and up alleys until he finally called a halt. Bilbo wheezed, though he was pleased to see he wasn’t the only one.

Absently, Bofur tossed Bilbo’s satchel into his arms and began to pace up and down the side street. The young man with Balin leaned against the nearest building and sank to the ground slowly.

“I’m sure he’s fine, boys,” Balin murmured. “Nori is always very resourceful.”

Neither man replied. Bilbo quietly dropped to the ground next to the younger man and awkwardly held out his hand.

“Hullo. My name’s Bilbo.”

The young man – boy, really, Bilbo noticed – looked up with slightly red-rimmed eyes.

“Hi,” he replied, shaking Bilbo’s hand. “I’m Ori. Nori’s my brother. I came with Balin to see-”

An impossibly loud, ground-shaking _boom_ cut off the rest of his sentence. Bilbo whirled around on his knees and looked up to find the night sky filled with fire. He could hear screams in the distance.

“Was that-”

“ _The inn_ ,” Bofur finished miserably. “They blew up the inn.” A quiet hiccupping sob escaped Ori.

They watched in horrified silence as the flames receded, waiting for what felt like an eternity. Balin stepped forward and laid a hand on Bofur’s shoulder.

“We need to move on,” he told the man.

Bofur shuddered violently and took a shaky breath. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. Captain’ll be expectin’ us. And Nori-”

“And Nori is disgusted that you would just _leave_ him here on this rock!”

“Nori!” Ori shouted, flying from his seat on the ground and running headlong into Nori’s arms when he came around the corner. The Spymaster was covered in soot and dirt and staggered when the boy hugged him, but he patted Ori’s back consolingly before extricating himself.

“Everyone alright?” he asked, his voice slightly hoarse.

“Of course not!” Bofur growled. He stalked right into Nori’s personal space and grabbed the Spymaster’s lapels. “You could have been _dead_.” Glaring, he shook Nori roughly before kissing him hard on the mouth.

A limping figure emerged from the darkness behind Nori and muttered dryly, “I’m fine as well, thanks for askin’. Though, I’ll skip the kiss.”

Nori whirled, brandishing a knife and attempting to push Bofur behind him. “Who’re  you?”

The figure straightened and raised one eyebrow.

“Ferris?”

“Reporting for duty, Spymaster,” Ferris replied, and Bilbo could not help chuckling aloud at the sarcasm.

Nori sniffed. “Well. I must admit that you are not my first choice as a preferred survivor.”

“That’s alright, sir. You weren’t my first choice as Spymaster.”

“Watch yourself, warden.”

“Always do, sir.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you for reading, kudoing, and commenting! I really appreciate it! I'm on tumblr if anyone wants to discuss plot ideas, and I've started tracking the tag "merbilbo"
> 
> durinsheir


	7. Setting Sail

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Premiere Day everyone! Also, I hope all of you had a lovely Thanksgiving/Hanukkah (if you celebrate those).

Before we get to the chapter, I wanted to share some amazeballs art with you guys!

First, we have pandamani's [merbilbo tag](http://pandamani.tumblr.com/tagged/merbilbo), which is _**FULL**_ of adorable amazing stuff. (panda's art in general is amazing so yeah)

Next, check out shae's mini-comics that nearly had me screaming in the middle of class. I call them Captain Thorin's Quest for the Booty. (get it? booty. pirates. arr.) [One](http://shaerahaek.tumblr.com/post/67675056669/a-minific-inspired-by-this-x-thorin-likes-ass) & [Two](http://shaerahaek.tumblr.com/post/68808868239/pirate-hobbit-au-inspired)

Thirdly, I posted a link to this in an earlier chapter, but I had to link it again because  _oh my god it's perfect and exactly how I imagine them._[Here](http://bolsondelabolsa.tumblr.com/post/67386961031/merman-bilbo-and-captain-thorin-inspired-by-all).

Lastly, we have art that is not really art nor is it amazeballs. I'm working on a model of Thorin's ship, and [this](http://durinsheir.tumblr.com/post/68753396609/okay-so-really-really-basic-frame-with-minimal) is what I have so far. The ship is also unnamed as of today, so if anyone has any suggestions, I would welcome them!!

Thanks :)

 

* * *

 

Chapter Seven

 

Nori and Bofur, a scant inch between them, led the way through the city. Balin and Gandalf kept Ori and Bilbo between them, and Ferris brought up the rear holding a long thin sword held in one hand.

“What happened?” Balin asked as they slunk around the corner of another building. Nori grunted and spat, “Fuckin’ marines” but offered no further explanation.

Ferris spoke up. “They musta known something big was goin down tonight – something to do with the captain. The big ugly one, whasitsname – Lurtz? – he broke down the front door and shot Lísya-”

“Wha?!” Bofur interjected. “Not Lís!”

“Aye. Anyways, he shot her right in the chest, poor dear, and cracked the butt of his musket in Bror’s face before he let the rest of his thugs tear the place apart. Nearly got myself stabbed in the back while I was trying to get the Council out. Ungrateful, the lot of ‘em…”

“Warden.”

“Sir. They started searchin’ all the rooms – all the ones they could find, that is – and shootin’ and runnin’ innocent folks through. Once the Council was out, though, I was out, and that’s when they started throwin’ kegs of powder through the windows. So, like any self-respectin’ Spy, I ran.”

“But,” Bilbo started, breathless, “the fire in the sky – they _killed innocent people?!_ What in Yavanna’s name are we still doing here? We need to be on that stupid ship Gandalf’s been telling me about all week _right now!_ ”

Bofur burst out laughing, followed by Nori. A quick snicker was heard from Ferris.

“What?” the merman asked, glaring. “If there are – if innocent people are being harmed, then the marines – and that tyrannical king! – must be stopped. I signed a contract, and I intend to help you lot find whatever it is you’re looking for! Stop laughing!” He bared his teeth at the men, pleased when Ferris instantly sobered and peered closer at Bilbo’s mouth. The warden said nothing, only ran his tongue unconsciously over his flat land-walker teeth. Bilbo closed his lips back over his own teeth, purposefully allowing the sharp corner teeth to hang over his lower lip.

Balin reached over to squeeze Bilbo’s shoulder, oblivious to the toothy exchange. He was still chuckling, though he made an effort to smother his mirth. “We are grateful to have you, laddie. We aren’t making fun of you; we’re just surprised to see such ferocity in someone like – well, someone like you.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?” the merman narrowed his eyes slightly.

“Well, you’re not a fighter, clearly,” Nori supplied, ushering them forward once more. “Step lively, gents, we’re nearly there.”

Bilbo snorted, “Of cou-”

“I dunno, Spymaster,” Ferris said from the back, “He’s got good legs for fencing. Bofur was right about how he walks, too. Nice rollin’ stride, good control over his core, though his balance is still a wee bit off.”

Bilbo looked down at himself incredulously. He had had these legs for less than a day! There was no way he was what Ferris described, even if he wasn’t exactly sure what fencing actually meant.

Nori was answering his warden skeptically. “That doesn’t mean he knows how to use a weapon. Right, Mr. Baggins?”

The merman fingered the knife at his hip nervously and worried his upper lip. “Um. Well.”

“Oh! A secret skill, is it? Or are just good at disguising your abilities?” Bofur asked gleefully. His eyes flickered down to the knife and focused on where Bilbo’s fingers rested on the hilt. “Handy with a dagger? Or do you throw?”

“I don’t‘throw,’” Bilbo snapped before he could stop himself. “But I do know a little about knives, yes.” Throwing knives, ha! What a ridiculous – well, maybe not so ridiculous on _land_. To his astonishment, he suddenly found several pairs of eyes watching him eagerly.

“Well?” Ori asked. “What kind of fighting have you done?”

Bilbo swallowed convulsively. “Sharks,” he mumbled.

“What?”

“I think he said sharks.”

“Don’t be daft, Ori. He didn’t say ‘sharks.’ Did he?”

Gandalf tried to lay a comforting hand on Bilbo’s shoulder, but he ducked away and scuffed awkwardly at the ground with his boots. “I’ve fought sharks.” _Horrible, dark creatures with their soulless eyes and mindless hunger._ “ _Killed_ sharks.”

“What the ruddy hell were you killin’ sharks for?” Nori asked, his eyebrows close to clearing his hairline.

A gust of wind came whistling down the street, striking Bilbo full in the face. He breathed in and closed his eyes; they were close to the docks, close to the ocean.

“Mister Bilbo?” Ori whispered hesitantly.

He did not look at any of the land-walkers when he answered. Instead, he pushed to the front of the group, following the smell of salt and brine. “They were killing my parents,” he told them, his voice devoid of emotion. “So I killed them.”

Bofur whispered a quick explanation of Bilbo’s false past as a navigator when Ori asked where someone would encounter sharks. The merman could feel their stares, but he clenched his teeth and marched forward on aching legs.

 

* * *

 

 

The formerly soothing smell of salt quickly transformed into a retched stench of dead fish and filthy water. The waves were topped with muddy foam that clung to the shore. Bilbo had relinquished his lead back to Nori and Bofur, attempting to avoid the smell by breathing through his mouth. He was disgusted to find, however, that he could now _taste_ the rotted air.

“How can they live like this?” he muttered, watching mournfully as a dead fish floated by their position on the long dock.

“You get used to it,” Ferris replied. He shrugged at Bilbo’s incredulous look. “The big inland cities can be worse, sometimes.”

Bilbo shuddered. Inland. What a horrible idea.

The group was standing on the dock in the shadow of a small ship. Bofur stood with his arms crossed, looking out over the water. For what, Bilbo knew not. Nori had climbed up the single mast of the neighboring ship and was peering into the night as well.

“Gandalf,” Bilbo whispered as he turned to the wizard. “What are we waiting for?”

Gandalf hummed a short note and squinted at a point on the horizon. “That ship, I believe.” He glanced up at Nori, calling to the Spymaster, “Is that the one?”

“Aye, there she is,” he replied. Bilbo stepped to the edge of the dock and cupped his hands around his eyes. What ship? There was nothing to be seen but water and sky – wait.

There, cutting through the moon’s reflection, was the ship. It grew larger with every passing second, the massive sails stretched taught by the wind. No lanterns shone on board the ship. The only illumination came from the thin crescent moon. When the ship was close enough to see in detail, Bofur sighed lovingly next to Bilbo.

“Just wait until you see her in daylight, laddie. She’s …” he trailed off. Bilbo looked back, but the other man only shook his head and smiled. When Bilbo looked back, the ship had slowed, and the dark sails were being drawn up. A muffled clanging was heard, along with a few voices. Bilbo recalled the sound; it was the anchor and its chain.

“Who d’you reckon they’ll send?” Nori asked from above their heads. Bofur frowned and scratched his short beard.

“A couple of the middies,” he replied after a moment’s consideration.

Snorting, Nori shook his head. “I bet Dwalin and Dori.”

“I’ll take that bet. The usual amount?”

“Agreed, love.”

Bilbo stepped away from the edge. He had spotted a boat being lowered from the side of the ship into the water. There were two land-walkers in the boat, with room for more, and the larger of the two had taken up the oars while the other perched in the front.

A few minutes passed. Bilbo could see the boat and its occupants now, and shrank into Gandalf’s side when he saw the land-walker working the oars. He was massive, heavily muscled, and hairless on the top of his head. Weapons were slung across his back, and his terrifyingly deep voice carried over the water.

“Why am I the one rowing?”

The other land-walker, a smaller creature with silvery hair, replied, but his voice was too quiet to hear over the slap of the oars against the water.

The giant growled, “Why are we the ones picking them up?”

Nori called out from his perch on the small ship, “Because we’re precious cargo, of course!” The redhead looked down at the group on the dock. “Bofur, I do believe you owe me money.”

“Don’t overvalue yourself, thief!” the large man yelled back as Bofur rolled his eyes.

The boat with its occupants drew closer to the dock, and Bofur tossed a length of rope to the silver haired land-walker’s waiting hands. A short tug, and the boat was knocking against the side of the dock.  The two newcomers instantly looked Bilbo over before glancing at Bofur.

“Is that him?” one asked.

“That’s him,” Bofur replied, pulling Bilbo away from Gandalf and up to the edge of the dock. “Bilbo, this is Dori and Dwalin. Gentlemen, this is Bilbo Baggins.” Bilbo cleared his throat nervously and managed a short ‘hello’. The large man, Dwalin, grunted in reply. Dori smiled gently from behind a well-groomed beard.

“In we go,” continued Bofur, nudging Bilbo in the back. The merman chewed the inside of his cheek and wrestled his legs into submission before stepping down into the boat. Thankfully, he managed not to collapse or fall over the side, and took a seat on the short bench in the middle. The others followed, cramming into the small vessel. Nori untied the loose line and pushed off from the dock before leaping across the gap and seating himself.

Dwalin grunted and frowned thunderously at the entire group as he began rowing. “Thief. You’re too fat for this boat. Get out and swim.”

Scoffing, Nori gestured at Dwalin’s numerous heavy weapons. Bilbo gulped when he spotted a pair of axes.

“Were you expecting Azog’s entire army?” the Spymaster asked. Dwalin glared.

“Wasn’t expecting you. Start swimming.”

“We ran into a spot of trouble. The inn was torched.”

Dori whirled around in his seat to face Nori. “What?!” His gaze snapped over to Ori, and the older man instantly grabbed for the boy. “I knew leaving you ashore was a _terrible_ idea! Are you burned anywhere? What happened?”

Almost instantly, Bilbo spotted the resemblance between the three men. Nori and Ori were siblings, he knew, and Dori was probably their elder brother.

Bofur began to explain the situation, diverting Dori’s aggressively affectionate attention for a moment. In the meantime, Bilbo glanced over at the others, looking for clues as to what lay ahead. Gandalf was as impassive as ever, and Balin was conversing quietly with Dwalin. There was not much resemblance to be found between those two, but the rhyming names might indicate some sort of familial relations. Who could tell, though, with land-walkers?

Ferris was seated in the exact middle of the boat, Bilbo noticed when he looked away from Balin. The man’s arms were crossed tightly over his chest and his knees bounced slightly in front of him. Every few seconds he would look over the side at the water, then tuck his chin close to his chest and shudder.

“Are you alright?” Bilbo asked quietly, scooting closer to the man.

Glancing up, Ferris replied, “I don’t like water.”

“What?!”

“Shut your weird-toothed mouth, navigator. Not all of us were ‘born at sea,’” he grumbled. After a few seconds, he muttered under his breath, “Can’t swim.”

Bilbo gaped. Surely, he had heard the man incorrectly. With a glare, Ferris turned away from Bilbo and fixed his gaze on his knees. “I never learned,” he grumbled. Bilbo shook his head in amazement and tried to imagine a life without swimming. He couldn’t. Even now, with the two legs aching beneath him, he could recall perfectly the feeling of the ocean over his scales and the drag on his fins. To live without water seemed impossible.

“A ship doesn’t seem like the ideal location for you,” he remarked, tilting his head in the direction of the nearing vessel. Ferris bared his teeth in a caricature of a smile.

“This wasn’t part of the plan.”

“And what was the plan?”

“Not this,” the man snapped, and Bilbo shrank away from his side, muttering an apology. With a sigh, he allowed his hand to hang over the side of the boat. The water felt incredible on his hand, and, for a fleeting second, he pondered snatching off the ring and diving over the side. Gandalf would probably be rather cross with him, however. He chuckled quietly at the thought.

The ship was within splashing distance, now, and Bilbo could see several faces looking over the side at the little boat. Some men were halfway up the complicated web of ropes, while others leaned precariously over the rails. So many land-walkers… Bilbo’s mouth went dry. What was he doing? He didn’t know how to be human! How was he going to stay on a ship full of land-walkers for Yavanna knew how long? What if he was found out, and they decided to trap him, or kill him? He would not be able to take off the ring, not unless he was far from the ship – he couldn’t live like that, so close to the ocean, yet so far from himself.

“Gandalf,” he whispered. “Gandalf, I can’t-”

The wizard’s hand landed on the back of his neck roughly, cutting him off with a quiet yelp.

“What was that for?!”

“For doubting yourself. All will be well. Now, prepare yourself. I do believe we are close enough to board.”

And so they were.

Ropes dropped down from the railing of the ship and into the waiting hands of Bofur and Dori. Some pulling brought the boat level with a series of hand- and footholds carved into the side of the ship.

“Ori, dear, you first,” Dori said, giving the boy a boost. Ferris was not far behind, scrambling up the steps and urging Ori along. Dwalin and Balin went next, followed by Gandalf. Nori looked expectantly at Bilbo, who frowned at the steps before grabbing the one right above his head. With a heave, he stepped out of the boat and clung to the side of the ship, trying frantically to force his legs to move correctly.

Someone sighed above him. The sound made him grit his teeth and surge upwards, his arms doing most of the work until he was able to hook one elbow around the railing and swing his hips over the top. He landed on his side, the air forced out of his lungs upon impact. A pair of wrinkled hands helped him to his feet, and he leaned gratefully on Gandalf as he caught his breath. Bofur and the others joined them on the deck quickly.

With a start, Bilbo found himself surrounded by land-walkers, all of them looking at him with various expressions of interest. Some of the men looked annoyed or angry, to his dismay. He tried to smile, but his face only twitched miserably in time with his pounding heart. The land-walkers began to converse amongst themselves; Bilbo knew they were talking about him.

A voice barked from within the crowd of men, “Out of the way, you lazy creatures! Make way for the captain!” The land-walkers quieted immediately, and a gap appeared in the crowd. Bilbo could barely hear anything over the roar of the blood in his ears. He swallowed convulsively and stepped closer to Gandalf’s side.

“Gandalf.”

The voice carried over the slap of waves against the ship, over the pounding of Bilbo’s heart. It was deep but smooth; the kind of voice gifted only to tragic heroes and princes of far away lands. To Bilbo, it was a voice straight from his mother’s stories.

The owner of the voice moved through the crowd, and the land-walkers nodded to him, murmuring “Captain” as he passed. The moon peeked through the voluminous sails above them, throwing dramatic shadows over everything. The captain came to a halt in front of the wizard and Bilbo and crossed his arms over his chest. His face was cast in shadow.

Gandalf bowed his head in greeting. “Thorin.”

“What is this?” the captain asked, shifting forward to peer closer at Bilbo. The merman flinched at the sudden movement, and immediately wished he hadn’t. The captain, his face now visible in a patch of moonlight, frowned darkly into a close-shorn beard. His eyes were a brilliant shade of blue, touched with irritation and resentment.  

“This,” replied Gandalf, nudging Bilbo forward and away from his side, “is your navigator.”

Silence.

The captain gave Bilbo a quick once-over, his lips pressed into a thin line and his eyebrows drawn together. When he looked at Bilbo’s face, their eyes met for a moment. The captain snorted derisively.

“Ha! Navigator? He looks more like a merchant’s son to me.” He turned away abruptly, his long dark coat snapping around his knees and his boots thudding against the deck. “Balin! We go west!” he shouted, and moved back through the crowd.

Balin was among the men instantly, calling out orders. “Weigh anchor! Drop canvas! You men get aloft and tighten those lines! Master Dori, you have the helm!”

The surrounding land-walkers moved as one, scattering in all directions to carry out their orders. Bilbo breathed shallowly as they brushed by him. The sound of the anchor chain scraping against the side of the ship filled the air, followed by a shout, “Anchor’s aweigh!” Billowing folds of canvas descended from the yardarms before snapping tight with the wind. Slowly, the ship began to cut through the water.

“Bring her about, Master Dori!” Balin called from his stance in the middle of the deck. Towards the rear of the ship, Dori spun the great spoked wheel, and the ship began to turn away from the sight of land. Within minutes, the ship was moving swiftly over the water due west.

Bilbo clutched at Gandalf’s arm through all of it, his throat threating to close and his heart throbbing in his chest. What was he doing here? The captain had dismissed him as a mere _child_ (he was nearly thirty, thank you very much!) and did not seem to want a navigator at all. The man had smirked and scoffed, his blue eyes dark and skeptical. Perhaps he was right; Bilbo wasn’t right for this! He was murúch, not land-walker, and certainly not a navigator. He worried his lower lip between his teeth and sighed.

_What was he doing here?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor thing.
> 
> Headcanon: Bilbo has amazing legs. Also a firm butt. Because, seriously, he's been swimming his entire life, and if that doesn't give you some incredible muscles, nothing will. I was never found of mer!people being all weak and flimsy when they have legs because if you think about it, they're just using converted appendages, not completely new ones. So all that business of having "good legs for fencing" and "good control over his core" comes from the muscles he's gained through life in the water. /shrug shrug/
> 
> Anyhow. Thanks so much for all the attention you guys are giving this fic :D If you ever want to discuss plot or anything, drop a message in my askbox or leave a comment here!
> 
> duri
> 
> P.S. I track the tags "all ahead full sail" and "merbilbo"


	8. Navigator, Not Editor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Enter,” a voice called from within, and Bilbo could swear he felt his heart stop for a moment. This must be the captain’s quarters, he thought. The ring suddenly felt heavy on his finger, and he felt himself take a step back and toward the side without realizing what he was doing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Holidays! Sorry for the wait... finals and family and stuff like that. And I think I promised someone that I would update this, Age of Dragons, AND Streets of Fire, all before Christmas. Obviously, this didn't happen, and I apologize lol. But I'll try and update the others before I go back to school in a few weeks.

Bilbo clung to Gandalf’s side tightly as the wizard moved them across the deck. Men moved all around them, each of them glancing curiously at Bilbo as they went on their way. Without stopping, the wizard led the way through a short door beneath the steps of the upper deck. An unlit set of steps led down into the bowels of the ship, and Bilbo’s heart constricted.

“Gandalf,” he hissed, freezing at the top of the stairs. “What – where does that lead?”

“To the lower decks,” replied Gandalf, the image of patience. “And, to where you will be staying while on board. Now, come along.”

“But… the captain, he – he didn’t seem to be in need of , well, of me – of a navigator. At all. In fact, I’m certain he hates me?” He hesitated, still on the top step. Gandalf was stooped in the short corridor below, looking bemusedly up at Bilbo. “If he doesn’t – I don’t want to stay amongst these land-walkers if I’m not needed.”

“My dear boy, you are most certainly needed. Thorin Oakenshield just requires a bit more… _convincing_ than the others.”

With a thin sigh, Bilbo shook his head and carefully descended the stairs , following Gandalf through the narrow corridor. The wizard had to stoop beneath the low ceiling and grumbled irritably until they reached a door near the end of the corridor. Bilbo glanced up at the ceiling a scant six inches above his mop of curls and snorted. Why land-walkers did this to themselves, he would never know.

“This is my cabin,” Gandalf told him, pushing open the door and ducking inside. Bilbo was going to follow, but stopped when he realized that there was barely standing room for Gandalf, much less another person. Ridiculous.

“Oh!” he started. “Erm. It’s… nice?”

Gandalf snorted derisively. “It’s horrid, small, and damp. But it was either here or in with the crew. For the time being, you may bunk here, but do not expect to be comfortable.”

“Um.”

“Now, put your things there in the corner so we can get started.”

“Get- started? Gandalf, what?” Bilbo was politely jostled to the side, his belongings tossed none too gently into the room, and the door jerked shut before he could say another word. The wizard was moving back up the corridor, calling for him over his shoulder.

Shaking his head, Bilbo hurried after him. They mounted the stairs and stepped back out onto the deck. Without stopping, the wizard turned to another door, this one in the middle of the wall of the upper deck. It was a much nicer looking door than the first, Bilbo noticed as Gandalf knocked loudly on the dark wood.

“Enter,” a voice called from within, and Bilbo could swear he felt his heart stop for a moment. This must be the captain’s quarters, he thought. The ring suddenly felt heavy on his finger, and he felt himself take a step back and toward the side without realizing what he was doing.

“Bilbo, do come along,” Gandalf said, opening the door. The merman gulped and shook his head to clear it _. Now wasn’t really the time for cowardice. Get a grip, old boy._ The voice in his head sounded a bit like his father. He allowed Gandalf to usher him through the door.

The ceiling was considerably taller in here, he noticed. Though, to be fair, the first thing he noticed was the massive set of paned glass set in the far wall. The windows were nearly floor-to-ceiling and covered the entire wall. Through them, Bilbo could see the first hint of dawn over the outline of the shore and painting the rolling water, and he sighed lovingly.

He was so entranced by the view that he did not hear the pointed throat clearing coming from Gandalf behind him. Finally, the wizard jabbed a sharp finger in his back, and he jumped before glaring up at the tall man. Gandalf directed his attention to the occupants of the room.

The captain was standing behind a large wood table, both hands braced before him on the surface. Long, dark hair brushed through with a hint of grey was swept behind his shoulders. Shoulders, Bilbo couldn’t help but notice, that strained ever so slightly against the clean white linen of the captain’s shirt. The tails of the shirt were only half-tucked into a pair of dark trousers. A quick glance around the room revealed the long, deep blue coat from earlier slung haphazardly over the back of a nearby chair. Hints of silver stitching and buttons glinted in the lamplight.

Looking back to the captain, Bilbo hand time to pick out a thin scar disappearing into the close-shorn beard before he noticed the deep frown settled on the man’s face.

“Wizard,” he growled. The man seated at the table on Thorin’s left sighed into his beard, and Bilbo recognized Balin. Stacks of parchment were scattered on the table. Maps, maybe?

Ignoring the tense atmosphere, Gandalf stepped forward, pushing Bilbo along in front of him.

“Thorin. Any news since-”

“Since you disappeared to do you own secret business? No. Nothing,” the captain snapped. Suddenly, his shoulders sagged. “We are no closer to our goal than we were when we started,” he said, eyes on the table. One hand curled into a fist.

“Thorin…” Balin began, but the captain straightened, his frown deeper than before and his eyes the color of the deeps. He was nearly as tall as Gandalf, a distant part of Bilbo’s brain noticed.

“What have you brought me this time, wizard? Another miracle?” the captain asked, the frown lifting from his face just long enough to glance dubiously at Bilbo.

Absorbing another jab from Gandalf, Bilbo cleared his throat. The air in his lungs felt heavier, all of a sudden. “B- Bilbo Baggins, of the Shire,” he said, raising his chin a bit. “Um. Navigator.”

“Oh really?” The sarcasm was palpable. “Well, come on then. _Impress_ me.” The captain shoved a stack of parchment across the table toward Bilbo and crossed his arms over his chest.

Bilbo blanched. What the devil was he supposed to do now? He tried to glean a hint from the expressions on the others’ faces. No such luck. Hesitantly, he moved forward. The sheaves of parchment were maps, he realized. Land-walker maps.

“Um,” he started, his fingers hovering over the first few maps. Several seconds passed, several horrible seconds. A heavy sigh startled him, and he looked up to see the captain walking away from the table pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.

“Of course,” the man muttered darkly. Without looking back, he continued, “I suppose it’s too late to turn around?”

Bilbo’s heart stuttered feebly and he opened and closed his mouth several times, trying to find something, _anything_ , to say. Gandalf stepped up behind him and leaned over his shoulder. His head narrowly avoided the simple chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Long, wrinkled fingers spread over one of the maps before casting it aside in favor of another.

“Ah, yes,” said the wizard, “Here.” He pointed to a spot on the map.

Bilbo glanced up at him curiously.

Nodding down at the map, Gandalf told him, “That’s the Shire.”

What? That shape? His home? Surely not…. Well. Maybe, if he turned it a bit… yes! There was South Farthing, that shape there; did that make that collection of wavy lines the Brandywine Current, then? It must…

“Where are we now?” he asked the wizard quietly, ignoring the scoff from the captain. Gandalf slid a different map in front of him and tapped an empty spot of ocean not far from an ugly jagged line. The line was the shore, he realized. Which made…. that dot the Shire? So, that meant…

“What is that?” he asked, frowning at a dark collection of lines.

“Reefs.”

“But – there’s not a reef there. At least…” he mentally calculated the distance between the Shire and the mass of land and nodded to himself. “No. That reef crumbled three seasons ago. A ship crushed it. There are reefs here,” he pointed at a blank space on the map, “and here, though. Oh, here, too. And that trench is at _least_ three times longer than what you’ve got here. This reef is too far north. Are those supposed to be caves? If so, they collapsed during the last great storm. There used to be a sunken ship there, too, but it was bashed all to pieces by the current. Pity.” He shrugged, leaning over the table and pulling another stack of maps in front of him.

He didn’t notice the captain turning back to the table and watching him closely, nor did he notice the small smile on Balin’s face. Instead, he continued to pick apart the truly dreadful maps set before him.

“I’ve been here, I think. This is west of Weathertop, but this side of the island is all wrong; it’s supposed to be rounder, just here. And there’s a line of reefs at least three deep that arcs along here. And is that supposed to be a whale? The whales of the ice-waters never go that way, but I suppose if one was lost…?” he shook his head and dragged a hand through the hair falling over his eyes. Suddenly, he realized that everyone was watching him, and he looked up from the maps. “Um.” He bit the inside of his cheek and swallowed a few times. “Right. Um. These… well, these maps are – oh, sod it, these maps are ridiculous. I’m sorry, but they are.”

The captain stared at him, one eyebrow slightly higher than the other. Bilbo refused to look away.

“Gandalf,” the captain said, never looking away from Bilbo, “a word, before you go.” It was clearly a dismissal, but Bilbo stayed rooted in place, his fingers curling over one sheaf of parchment.

The wizard murmured a reply. "Of course."

"In private," finished Thorin firmly, his eyes narrowing.

"Absolutely. Bilbo, if you would-"

"Why am I here?" Bilbo asked, his hand pressed firmly against the table to avoid ruining the map. No one replied at first. Balin gaped at him briefly before smiling into his beard, and Bilbo heard Gandalf sigh behind him. The captain's face was expressionless.

He swallowed and spoke again. "Why do you need a navigator?"

"We are... we are searching for something," the captain said.

"Searching for what?"

"That is not your concern at this time, Master Baggins, as your employment aboard this ship is still under review. For now, you will take these maps and correct them as you see fit."

Bilbo frowned. Editing maps was not what he had in mind when he first put on the ring. Not at all.

"But-" he started.

"Good morning, Master Baggins," rumbled the captain. The dismissal was firm.

Hiding his irritation, Bilbo swept all the maps into his arms and turned to march out of the room. "Good morning, Captain," he replied flatly over his shoulder, striding out the open door. Once the door had shut behind him, he sagged against it and let out a huge breath. He allowed himself to seethe quietly for a moment before listening closely to the voices behind the door. Except for the occasional, meaningless word, he understood nothing. Damn. Damn that captain, and damn that wizard for pulling him from the sea!

A quiet growl tickled the back of his throat and he clenched his teeth. 'Employment still under review,' was it? Well, he would show Captain Oakenshield! The rough land-walker had best prepare himself; these maps were going to be the best damned maps in all of Arda.

 

* * *

 

 

Bilbo quickly realized that not only did he not have anything to write with, he did not have anywhere to begin the corrections. Not that he would know where to go onboard a ship in the first place, however. He was shifting awkwardly from foot to foot, the sun rising steadily behind the ship, when he heard the humming.

It came from behind and slightly above him, and he followed the noise, curious. The sound was low and rhythmic, not unlike the songs Bungo used to sing when he gardened. Bilbo slowly mounted the steps to the uppermost deck, and found Dori positioned at the helm. The man was idly tapping out a rhythm with one foot while he held the spokes of the large wheel.

"Um," started Bilbo, stopping at the top of the steps, "Hullo."

The humming stopped immediately, and Dori took in Bilbo's appearance before nodding at him. "Can I help you, navigator?"

Bilbo opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again. "I, um, well. Do you, ah, that is, could you tell me..."

"Have you been speaking with the captain?" Dori asked suddenly.

Bilbo shrugged, nodding. He couldn't hold the man's gaze for more than a few seconds, but he noticed that Dori's expression had softened considerably.

"Not to worry, navigator. Meeting someone like Captain Oakenshield scrambles nearly everyone's brains the first time."

"He's very... um... intense?"

Dori laughed out loud. "Yes. Intense. That's the military upbringing, I'm afraid. He means well, though, and he tries to do right by his - well, he's doing his damnedest, I'm sure you know.

Bilbo didn't know, actually, and he really wanted to ask about it, but he nodded all the same. The ship rocked forward and back steadily as it cut through the water, his thigh muscles flexing of their own accord in order to keep him upright. They were moving quickly, but Bilbo reckoned he would be able to keep up if he were swimming. He wondered if the captain had a destination in mind, or if ‘west’ was the only clue he had in his search for the ‘something’ mentioned earlier.

"Now then," Dori continued, turning the helm a few inches clockwise. "What was it you needed?"

"Oh! Um, if it's no trouble, I need something to write with... You see, the captain - he's not sure I'm good enough for the job, so he's got me filling in these wretched maps..." he trailed off when he noticed Dori grinning. "What?"

"Navigator, you're here on the ship. Trust me, you've got the job. The last bloke didn't even get through a meeting with Nori. In fact, I think you've made it the longest out of all the others."

Bilbo gaped at the man.

"You said you needed something to write with? My younger brother will have a pen or two to spare. Ori?" the helmsman called over his shoulder. A young face appeared from around a crate. Ori waved shyly at Bilbo when he joined Dori at the helm. He had a leather bag across his body, and he searched furiously through it before he brought out an object, grinning triumphantly.

"Here you go, Mister Baggins! I just filled it yesterday, but let me know if you'll be needing more ink," the younger man said, passing the metal fountain pen to Bilbo. "And, if you need somewhere to work, you can always sit with me?" His smile was hopeful and impossible to resist.

The merman grinned in return and followed Ori's lead to the stack of crates at the rear of the ship. Apparently, this was the younger man's usual workspace, as it was cluttered with parchment weighed down with various objects against the wind. Ori shifted a few things over and helped Bilbo arrange some of the maps before sitting down on the deck beside the crate.

Now several points above the horizon, the sun provided plenty of light to work by, and Bilbo immediately began scratching out dead reefs and penning in new ones. He had a great deal of work to do, it seemed, and he bristled at the idea of the captain doubting his abilities. These maps would be perfect, he swore to himself. Perfect. Then, no one could say he wasn't worthy of this ridiculous job, and he could actually start _navigating_. (Though, he still had no idea what they were looking for our here.)

He threw himself into the work; hours passed and the sun reached its peak before Ori awkwardly cleared his throat next to Bilbo.

"Um. Mister Baggins, sir?"

Bilbo looked up and winced at the stiffness in his neck and shoulders. "Please, Ori, just Bilbo is fine."

"Of course! Mister - I mean, Bilbo - do you want some lunch?"

He did want lunch, oh gracious yes he wanted lunch. But what did land-walkers eat? What if it made him sick?

He opened his mouth to ask what food there was to be had onboard when a shout from above their heads interrupted him.

"Lunch? Of course he wants lunch!"

Bilbo jerked in surprise and peered upwards amongst the rigging for the source of the shout. The sun was painfully bright, and he had to look away to rub at his eyes.

"Come on, then," the voice continued, followed by the sound of moving rope and shuffling feet. Without warning, one pair of boots hit the deck just to Ori's left, then another. The first human was young, maybe a year older than Ori, with long, dark hair pulled back into a messy tail. The second looked older, old enough to have the beginnings of a short beard on his chin. He held the end of a length of rope in both hands and half-smiled at Bilbo before shifting to stand right next to the other boy.

"You're the navigator!" the first boy said, grinning widely at Bilbo.

"Oh. Um. Yes, I am," replied Bilbo.

"We never met any of the others. Uncle always scares them away. Or they don't make it to the ship."

"Ah. Right."

"My name's Kíli-" said the dark-haired boy.

The blonde followed, "-I'm Fíli."

"At your service!" They each sketched a half-bow, twin smiles on their bright young faces.

It was them, Bilbo realized with a shock: the young brothers from his first night near the ship. He tried not to stare, his heart sinking. They were so _young_ ; Kili could not be more than 15, and his brother not much older. Belatedly, he realized they were looking at him expectantly.

"Bilbo Baggins," he blurted, "at your service. Where did you come from, just now?"

Kíli’s smile grew wider, if such a thing was possible. "The tops, of course! I've been practicing-"

"-and I've been following..." murmured Fíli.

The dark-haired boy continued, "I can run through the rigging without help now, and I can nearly walk along the spars, but I still can't go all the way up the main mast, only the mizzen and fore. I'll get it, though. Can you climb to the tops? Do navigators have large ships or small ones? How many masts-"

"Kíli!" Fíli shoved his brother, interrupting the quite overwhelming torrent of questions. Bilbo had hardly understood what the boy was talking about - mizzens and fores and tops and spars? - it was all foreign to him.

"I don't - well, actually, I've never - hmm," he stuttered. "Ships aren't exactly - oh, forget it. Did someone say something about lunch?"

“Right this way, Mister Boggins!” Kíli called gleefully, already dashing across the deck. His golden-haired brother smiled ruefully at Bilbo’s protest of ‘It’s Baggins, actually’ and followed, albeit at a much more sedate pace.

Bilbo turned to look back at Ori. “Are they…”

“Always like that? Yes, Mister Bilbo, I’m sorry to say that they are,” the young scribe replied wearily. “We should probably follow them.”

Nodding, Bilbo secured his maps. It would be just his luck for the entire stack to get swept into the sea. Then he would _really_ be in trouble with the captain.

“We’ll find you a satchel to keep them in, Mister Bilbo,” Ori said. “But for now, Dori will make sure no one bothers them.”

Bilbo thanked Ori and his eldest brother, the scribe ushering him across the higher deck and down to the middle deck with the short doors. Kíli reappeared out of seemingly nowhere to hurry them along, chattering happily about the different parts of the ship he had climbed and fallen from and broken (but don’t tell Uncle) and hidden in (‘specially don’t tell Uncle about those, please, Mister Boggins?). Bilbo didn’t understand half of the things the boy was talking about, but he nodded and promised anyway. He _really_ needed to figure what the land-walkers called everything on this ship.

The boy led them through the hatch and down a corridor. Bilbo could hear the murmur of voices over Kíli’s unceasing questions. His heart seized briefly his chest. How many land-walkers were on this ship? How long would it take before they realized how different he was? Would they be more accepting than the captain, or, Eru forbid, _less_?

He took a deep, fortifying breath, but winced when the air dragged through his dry throat. He longed to be underwater. And, oddly enough, he missed the wizard’s comforting hand on his shoulder.

But, Gandalf was still with the captain, and Bilbo could hardly jump off the side of the ship. He would have to muster up enough courage on his own for now.

“Here we are, Mister Bilbo,” Ori was saying, stepping through a doorway. And, indeed, there they were. Dozens of land-walkers, all staring at _him_. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to theawkwardsempai on tumblr for allowing me to bounce plot ideas off of them! I really appreciate it :D and if anyone ever wants to talk to me, my askbox is always open. 
> 
> duri


	9. Lunch, Rigging, and Reefs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Long time no see, folks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! 
> 
> So, I have several announcements.
> 
> Firstly, apologies for lack of updates. I don't really have a good excuse?
> 
> Second. There is a Big Bang underway for The Hobbit, in case you haven't heard. It's going to be super awesome and you guys should check it out. 
> 
> Third. This story is now a part of the aforementioned Big Bang! This is good and bad. The good: I'll actually finish this monster in a timely manner, and it'll be properly beta'd! The bad: Updates will be few and far between from here until the conclusion of the BB. As per the rules, I cannot post the end of the fic until the end of the BB, so I'm only going to post chapter updates probably two more times after this one, and just save the remainder of the fic until I can post it all at once after the BB. Never fear! The posting date is sometime in late April or early May I think, so it's not too far away!
> 
> EDIT: So maybe I should explain what a Big Bang is lol. It's basically an event type thing hosted on Live Journal where writers and artists team up and create a novel length fic. The writers write the thing first, and then it gets beta'd, and then they get paired with an artist and the artists create some pieces for the fic. After it's all over, the entire fic is posted on Live Journal and wherever else they want. It's loads of fun and a lot of amazing fic and art comes out of it! That's a really shitty explanation but if you google it, you'll probably get a better one. 
> 
> Thanks for all the support, you guys rock!

He froze in the doorway, of course, _of course_ he froze, petrified, ice shooting through his veins and down his spine. The leg muscles he was just now getting the hang of locked up, and he swallowed painfully. The narrow room was packed with land-walkers, some sitting around the rough wooden tables, others standing in a short line along the far wall. The boys darted through the crowd, calling out greetings as they went. Slowly, the room’s attention drifted from Bilbo to Fíli and Kíli, though a few still watched him closely. He swallowed harshly again. Ori, bless him, wasn’t completely oblivious to Bilbo’s discomfort, and turned back to beckon him into the room.

“It’s alright, Mr. Bilbo,” he murmured when Bilbo made his way to the scribe’s side. “Crowds used to make me nervous, too. The first time Nori brought me down here, I fainted in the doorway. Dori nearly threw him overboard when he found out I was here.” He smiled faintly. “You’re already doing better than I did. You don’t even look pale… well, not too pale.”

Bilbo covered up his wince with a short nod.

Kíli reappeared at his side. “Come on, slow poke, we’re sitting over here! I saved a seat for you, right next to me.” He looked expectantly at Bilbo, his grin never wavering.

Licking his lips, Bilbo forced a thin smile. “Lead the way.” His voice cracked. Ori’s elbow brushed against his for a brief moment before the lad followed Kíli back through the maze of tables and men. Bilbo lurched after them, his mind suddenly unsure if the legs beneath him were really there.

He made it to the table without collapsing and tumbled onto the bench next to Kíli’s energetic form. A bowl filled with _something_ was deposited in front of him; the smell assaulted his nose at once, and he clapped a hand over his face before asking, “What in Ulmo’s name is _that_?”

A familiar voice came from further down the long table, “Stew, of course! Don’t tell me you navigatin’ types don’t eat stew?” Bofur leaned around Kíli to grin at Bilbo’s disgusted face.

“What’s it made of?” the merman asked, slowly removing his hand from his nose. The smell wasn’t any better than before, and he made an effort to breathe through his mouth instead. The liquid in the bowl was thick and filled with green, orange, and white chunks.

“Hmm, today we’ve got carrots, kelp, and what looks like some sort of fish,” came the cheerful reply.

Kelp _and_ fish! Bilbo took a closer look at the stew. “Why does it smell so strange?” he asked, poking hesitantly at the white meat with one finger. Across from him, Fíli was shoveling the stew into his mouth with some sort of utensil, and Bilbo carefully copied the young man’s grip on his own utensil. It was kind of like holding a pen, or a knife.

“It actually smells a lot better than it normally does,” Bofur told him.

Grimacing, Bilbo gently scooped up some of the fish and ate it.

It was… different. There was something not quite right about the texture or the taste, not to mention the fact that it was much warmer than normal fish had any right to be. It was incredibly tender and fell apart in his mouth, his sharp corner teeth passing through the chunks easily. The land-walkers had done _something_ to the fish, but Bilbo had no idea what.

Bofur’s grin split into a full, toothy smile when he swallowed his first bite and scooped up another. Kíli cheered, and the land-walkers sitting around them laughed. Bilbo could not fight the smile that appeared on his face.

It was not so bad, in the end. The land-walkers stared, but most of them left him alone. A few asked him questions; he answered them as well as he could manage, and his answers seemed to satisfy the men. After lunch, the three younger humans led him on an exhausting tour of the ship, and Bilbo did his best to commit what they told him to memory. One thing the boys kept saying, however, did not make sense to him.

“Is – is the ship alive?” he asked slowly. The four of them were standing at the front – the _bow_ , Bilbo sternly reminded himself. Kíli had clambered over the railing and was currently shimmying up the bowsprit. His brother watched him closely, his entire body poised to leap after the younger boy lest he fall.

Kíli looked over his shoulder at the merman. “Um, no?”

“Then why do you keep saying ‘she’ whenever you are describing part of it?”

“Because she’s a lady!” came the indignant reply. Kíli apparently deemed this discussion a personal matter, and quickly stepped back over the railing to face Bilbo.

“Ships are _always_ ladies,” he continued. “Always.”

“Okay.” Bilbo drew out the last syllable. “But why?”

Kíli threw up his hands and sighed dramatically. His brother smiled and shrugged when Bilbo looked to him. “It’s just something that sailors do. All ships are referred to as female.”

“And the _Orcrist_ is the most beautiful lady on the ocean!” Kíli gestured broadly, grinning.

Bilbo was utterly lost. “The who?”

“The _Orcrist._ ”

“You name the ships, too?”

This time, a chorus of groaning sighs came from all three humans.

 

The sun hovered a few points above the western horizon. Bilbo had moved the maps to the bow of the ship when the boys left him to his own devices; he was now leaning against one of the massive, hideous guns – canons – with the papers stacked between his spread legs. While he worked, he tried to avoid noticing exactly how far apart the two appendages were. It was unnatural, he thought with a shudder, and scratched a thick line through yet another misplaced reef. Some of the maps would have to be redrawn from scratch, and it looked like this one would be joining that pile.

With a sigh, he cast the hopeless drawing aside and unfolded the next. It was labeled _Doriath_ in large, curling letters.

Doriath.

He hummed absently to himself, trying to recall where he had heard that name before. None of the shapes on the map were familiar, though some of the names….

“Oh!” he exclaimed quietly, bending over the map until his nose nearly touched the parchment. _Menegroth._ The great city of legend, housed in the massive forested island of Doriath. Belladonna had told marvelous stories of this area! Bilbo had no idea the stories might have been true; though, if he was being honest with himself, a great many of his mother’s legends were turning out to be very true, indeed.

As far as he could tell from the stories, everything was in the proper places on the map, though did have to jot down the Fens, Gates, and Falls of Sirion at he southern point of the island.

Would they be sailing all the way to Doriath? He wondered at the idea. Not even his mother had ventured that far into the Sea of Beleriand. She had crossed Ered Luin, many years ago, but she never spoke of the crossing, not even to Bilbo. Dark things lived in that nightmarish range, it was whispered, where underwater mountains rose just as often as the seafloor sank into bottomless trenches.

He frowned. Crossing the Luin could prove to be a problem. There was no way for him to accurately know the depths of each mountain and trench. What if they crossed over a mountain tall enough to damage the ship without being seen?

With a sigh, he put down the map of Doriath and gathered the others in his arms. The satchel Ori had loaned him held the entire stack of parchment easily, and he slid the maps inside the bag before struggling to his feet. A gust of sun-warmed wind caught him full in the face when he had risen above the protection of the railing, eliciting a pleased sigh from his lungs. The sun was much nicer above the surface, he had to admit.

A smile tugged at his lips when he realized they were sailing just over the border of the East Farthing kelp forests. The mass of foliage darkened the water for leagues in every direction, broken up only by the rise of the occasional rock formation and reef.

His smile faded, however, when he noticed the telltale signs of a reef just beneath the surface not far in front of the ship. If they did not turn, the bottom of the ship would surely collide with the rock hard corals.

“Um.”

The ship continued on its straight course, the wind propelling it along at a decent pace. Bilbo turned, his eyes finding Dori standing behind the wheel. The land-walker was watching the water, but he did not appear to notice the reef.

“Erm, Dori?” Bilbo called out hesitantly. The wind snatched his words, muffling them. A nearby sailor, his hands busy reknotting a length of rope, looked up at the merman curiously before returning his attention to his task.

Bilbo quickly made his way back down the length of the ship, avoiding coils of rope and passing land-walkers. “Dori!” He waved one hand above his head. The helmsman noticed him, finally, and nodded at him.

“You, um, you’ve got to turn, Dori,” Bilbo said loudly as he mounted the deck stairs to the helm.

“Whatever for?” the helmsman asked, both hands coming to rest on the spokes of the wheel. A few of the sailors working close by stopped the watch the exchange.

Bilbo swallowed and pointed at the frothy hump of water that covered the reef. “We’re going to hit that reef if you don’t turn immediately.”

Raising one skeptical eyebrow, Dori leaned up on the tips of his toes to look out over the water beyond. “I don’t-”

“Trust me, there’s a reef about two tail lengths below the surface, and if you don’t turn this ship, we’ll strike the reef.”

“Two what-lengths?” Dori asked skeptically even as his hands pulled at the wheel. One of the triangular sails above their heads began to slowly turn, a quiet groaning accompanied by the _whump_ of the wind being forced to change direction.

“Navigator, I understand you’re from these parts, but I don’t see-”

Bilbo snapped, “Fine! Hit the reef! Kill the coral, damage this damn ship, see if I care!” He stalked away and braced himself next to Ori’s improvised desk. He hoped the ship sank. It would be the perfect excuse to toss the magic ring in Gandalf’s face and return to Bag End.

His grumbling was interrupted by a shout from high above the deck. “Reef ahead! Steer to port!” He looked up to see one of the crew seated at the crosspiece of the middle mast – the main, his mind supplied – and Bilbo smirked when Dori cursed loudly and began hauling hard at the helm. The ship listed to the left, the bow cutting crossways through the waves and the sails straining against the rigging.

“Sailor!” Dori barked at a nearby land-walker. “Hold the helm, and if you let go, Mahal help me I’ll have hanging from the mizzen by your toes!” The land-walker paled before leaping forward to latch onto the spoked wheel. Dori released his hold with a glare and moved to the right side of the ship. Grabbing the shroud, he stepped up onto the railing and leaned out over the side of the ship. Bilbo squeaked in fear and scrambled across the deck after the helmsman.

Dori seemed unperturbed by his precarious position and was watching the water intently as it rushed by below him. Bilbo gripped the opposite side of the shroud with both hands and watched Dori and the water. The jagged top of the reef came rushing by them not ten feet away. The helmsman cursed loudly when he saw how close to the surface the rocky protrusion was. With another curse, he jumped down from the rail and stalked back to the helm. The nervous land-walker was quickly dismissed, and the ship was allowed to resume its straight course.

Bilbo wandered over the Dori’s side, his hands clutching at the strap of the satchel.

“I do apologize, navigator,” Dori said after a tense moment of silence. “These are your waters, not ours, and I should have listened to your warning.”

“Um, it’s quite alright,” replied the merman. He was about to make his escape back to the bow of the ship when Dori stopped him.

“If it’s no trouble, I would be grateful for your experience as we move through these waters.”

Grateful?

“…are you – well, yes, that’s – I mean, of course it’s no trouble.”

“Much appreciated, laddie.”

And so Bilbo stayed, the familiar waters of East Farthing fading into the rolling seafloor of Buckland. After a few hours of nothing but “left, about two points” and “rocks on our right,” Dori glanced over at the merman.

“Have you ever steered a square-rigged ship before, navigator?”

“A what?”

Dori chuckled. “I’ll take that as a ‘no’. Put your hands where mine just were.” He released the helm and gestured at Bilbo. The merman looked at him incredulously.

“You want me to do what?”

“Take the helm, navigator, before we sail into another one of your reefs.”

“But-”

“Hands on the helm!”

Bilbo stepped forward, a confused sound passing his lips. His hands fit awkwardly over the spokes. Dori laughed quietly behind him.

“This is ridiculous,” Bilbo told him, struggling to keep the wind from pulling the ship too far to the left. The wheel was much more difficult to turn than Dori made it look.

“You’re drifting too far to port, navigator,” was the only thing the helmsman said. Bilbo sighed and clenched his teeth, leaning with the effort it took to turn the wheel back to starboard.

“I hate this.”

“I know,” Dori laughed. Bilbo rolled his eyes, smothering the small smile that threatened to betray him.

“We’ll make a sailor of you eventually, navigator.”

This time, the merman allowed himself to grin. Oh, if his mother could see him now. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you, like Bilbo, are having trouble keeping track of what parts of a ship are where, I recommend you take a gander at the wikipedia pages for "Rigging" and "Sail-plan", in addition to searching something like "diagram of a sailing ship" in Google Images. I'm trying to keep from using too many nautical terms, but the further we get into the story, the more familiar Bilbo will become with the vernacular. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!!
> 
> EDIT: So, maybe I should mention that the geography of Middle-Earth in this AU is vaguely similar to the canon geography. The only real exception being that the ocean west of Eren Luin extends all the way to Bree, meaning that the Shire and Ered Luin and all that are underwater. Also, a lot of the places in Beleriand (which sank beneath the sea after the War of Wrath in the First Age [details in The Silmarillion]) are now islands. More details later.


	10. Let's Shoot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time no sea, folks. 
> 
> Wow what a shitty pun. 
> 
> Anyway. Here we are again, doing ship things. 
> 
> Unedited, unbeta'd, etc. Please excuse all errors.

_Later that night…_

Bilbo shifted uncomfortably in the hammock strung from the ceiling in the cabin he shared with Gandalf. The wizard snores were reaching an incredible volume, and Bilbo buried his head in the crook of his elbow in an attempt to muffle the noise. It didn’t help.

How was he supposed to sleep like this? Did all land-walkers rest suspended above the floor? It was ridiculous, not to mention dangerous! And, great Valar beyond, the _waves_. Not a second passed without the ship rocking back and forth, back and forth! It was sickening. Literally. How any land-walker could stand being tossed about like this was beyond him. It was much easier beneath the waves; down there, one rolled _with_ the currents, not around and over and through them.

The snoring ceased for a moment, and Bilbo cast a curious glance over at the wizard’s bunk. Gandalf had shifted onto his back and was squinting angrily at the ceiling.

“…Gandalf?” the merman ventured.

The wizard heaved a great sigh and frowned. “Of course it would be in the middle of the bloody night.”

“What?”

“You should get dressed, Bilbo. A head start always helps,” came the cryptic reply.

“A head start for what?”

The sudden pealing of the deck bell drowned his words out. Not a full second of the frantic ringing passed before the sounds of stomping feet and shouting filled the air.

One voice rose above the rest, “ _Beat to quarters!_ _Look alive, you worthless shits! To the guns!”_  

Bilbo looked to Gandalf, his heart ready to pound straight out of his chest. “Gandalf?! What’s going on?”

The wizard was already out of bed and getting dressed, muttering to himself. He chucked Bilbo’s boots at the merman and snapped, “Get up. Get dressed. Stay next to me at all times.”

Fearfully, Bilbo tumbled out of the hammock and stepped into his boots. Gandalf was striding out of the room, and Bilbo snatched up his jacket before dashing after the wizard. The narrow hallway was packed with sailors in various states of undress, each bleary eyed and uncaring who they bumped into – namely Bilbo – as they pushed their way to the stairs. Some went up to the main deck and some descended further into the ship. Bilbo did his best to cling to Gandalf’s side, following him up the stairs and out onto the deck.

The ship heaved, a large wave spraying over the rail and immediately soaking Bilbo and Gandalf. The wizard cursed loudly before turning to grab Bilbo by the shoulder and practically dragging him up the stairs to the helm. Land-walkers hurried by them, shouting at each and carrying cannonballs and other items. Another wave rocked the ship. The wood groaned and the sails snapped in the wind.

“Gandalf!” Bilbo cried out, swiping his hair out of his eyes. “What the hell is going on?” The wizard glanced down at him briefly before gesturing vaguely at the rest of the ship. The crew had divided into small groups of four or five men, with each group working swiftly at a cannon. Everyone was shouting at everyone. He spotted Bofur grinning madly in the low light of a lantern, the land-walker calling out orders to his gun-crew as they hauled shot and powder to the horrid metal weapon.

“Either another ship has been sighted, or our esteemed captain has decided the crew needs to _practice_ ,” Gandalf told him.

Before Bilbo could kick the wizard in the shins and demand a straight answer, a loud voice called out, “ _Captain on deck!_ ” Immediately, the crew’s movements sped up. A cannonball was dropped down the muzzle of each gun, followed by one of the crew ramming it home with a long rod. Within seconds of each other, each gun was hauled back into their respective gunports and primed. Bilbo spotted Dwalin’s formidable figure in the center of the quarterdeck, arms crossed over his chest and his feet planet firmly on the rocking deck. The captain came into view, making his way forward until he stood with Dwalin. His long blue coat was buttoned up properly, and he had two belts crisscrossing over his chest, a pistol stuffed in each. A frighteningly long sword was buckled at his waist, as was another pistol. In one hand he carried a large, three-cornered hat that sported several long white feathers.

“Report!” he demanded, sweeping the hat onto his head.

Dwalin roared out to the crew, “ _Gun-crews, report!_ ”

“One, ready!”

“Three, ready!”

“Two and four, ready!”

“Five and six, set to fire!”

“Seven through ten, ready to fire!”

Dwalin called out again, “Report from below!”

Similar answers rang out from below-decks, the shouts passing up the stairs until the final gun – number thirty-six – called ‘ready.’ Complete silence fell over the ship at the last crew’s shout except for the creaking wood and pounding waves. Bilbo hardly breathed. Gandalf’s hand was clenched painfully tight on his shoulder, but he made no motion to remove it.

On the quarterdeck, the captain crossed his arms over his chest. He glanced at Dwalin before shouting, “Not bad, men!”

A hearty shout rang out from the gun-crews. The captain raised a hand for quiet, and they instantly complied.

“Azog’s navy will be ready for us, make no mistake! They are sailors, just as you. For every shot we fire, there will be an answer. The _Orcrist_ is a good ship-” another approving shout “ – but 36 guns against 50 is a dangerous gamble. We will have to be twice as fast, twice as smart, twice as cunning, if we are to survive them. At the current rate, we will manage one-and-a-quarter broadsides to their one.” He paused to rest his eyes on each gun-crew. “Double that, and there’ll be a reward in it for every man!”

The entire ship roared their approval, and Bilbo caught a glimpse of white teeth as the corner of the captain’s mouth lifted slightly. Nodding to Dwalin, the land-walker turned and made his way aft, toward the helm.

Dwalin bellowed, “ _FIRE!_ ” and Bilbo’s heart stopped dead in his chest. The very air resonated with the force of the shots, each gun vomiting fire and smoke as they launched backwards against their bracings. A high-pitched ringing filled the merman’s ears and he clapped both hands over them, gasping for breath. He barely noticed the crews rushing to reload the guns.

The captain mounted the stairs to the helm. At the top step, he caught sight of Gandalf and Bilbo, his expression immediately darkening. With a sneer, he stepped up in front of the helm and braced both hands on the railing. Barely a minute passed before the crews were calling out “Ready!” again. Before Dwalin could order them to fire, Bilbo flattened his palms over his ears and clenched his teeth. The second round of cannon fire was no less loud than the first, unfortunately, and he could feel his pulse pounding in his head.

It went on for ages, it seemed like. Bilbo assumed he would be deaf by the end of the exercise, and leaned heavily on Gandalf. His lungs burned; smoke shrouded the entire vessel, clinging thickly to everything, including the back of the merman’s throat. He longed for a breeze to sweep it all away – better yet, he longed to slip off the ring, drop into the sea, open his gills, and breathe _properly_.

The captain remained in his position at the railing, watching the crew as they tirelessly loaded and reloaded their guns. Finally, he raised a hand, and Dwalin bellowed, “ _Cease fire!_ ”

The crew slowed to a halt, each land-walker looking expectantly at their leader. Bilbo hesitantly uncovered his ears.

“Azog is right to fear us,” Captain Oakenshield called out. “Excellent work.”

Once again, the crew responded enthusiastically.  Dwalin began throwing out orders, and the captain stepped back from the railing. When he turned, his gaze locked onto Bilbo. His eyes widened a fraction, like he had forgotten the merman was standing there. He opened his mouth – to depart some biting comment, no doubt – but instead opted for an exasperated sigh before turning away and descending to the middle deck.

“Gandalf,” Bilbo said without turning to look at the wizard, “what the hell am I doing here? And if you say it’s because of my ‘knowledge of these waters’ one more time, I’ll take off this bloody ring and drag you over the railing with me right now.”

Sighing, the wizard loosened his grip on Bilbo’s shoulder. “It will get better, Bilbo. You’ll see.”

Bilbo grit his teeth, a faint growl escaping him. “I find myself swamped with doubt, wizard.”

“ _Navigator!_ ” The deep bellow carried over the entire length of the ship. Bilbo nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw Dwalin striding with what looked like murderous purpose toward him from the front of the ship. “Navigator, can you shoot?” he asked without preamble when he was in front of the merman.

Bilbo gaped at the man, heart galloping in his chest. “Can – can I – shoot what?”

Dwalin only nodded and sighed. “Thought as much. Come on, then.” He reached out and grabbed Bilbo, tugging him away from Gandalf and leading him down the stairs to the fore of the ship.

“Where are you taking me?” Bilbo asked, stumbling along and regretting the last week of his life in its entirety.

“To shoot.”

“I doubt I am in any position to be of assistance with these hideous cannons, quartermaster!”

“Shooting pistols, Navigator, not the great guns.”

“My point still stands!”

Dwalin shoved Bilbo in front of him, and together they ducked under a low-hanging spar. Beyond was the bow of the ship. The waves sprayed high over the railing, lightly (and occasionally not-so-lightly) misting the deck. A single crate was sitting in the middle of the deck, and standing next to it were the captain and a land-walker sporting an impressive red beard.

“Navigator,” the captain said, “this is Master Gloín, Captain of the _Orcrist_ ’s marines. Gloín, this is the navigator.”

Bilbo began estimating how many steps it was to the railing. If he dodged to the right, he would be out of Dwalin’s reach and –

“Navigator!” Gloín held out one beefy hand. “A pleasure to finally lay eyes on you.”

Stifling a sigh, Bilbo faked a grin. “Bilbo Baggins, at your service,” he replied, and shook the man’s hand. Five steps to the railing, but now the three land-walkers were all in arm’s reach. Not worth it, he decided sourly.

Gloín let out a loud bark of laughter as he pumped the merman’s hand. “’At your service,’ he says! Lord, Thorin, where did you find this one?”

“I didn’t,” the captain growled. Gloín chuckled, shaking his head. Bilbo scowled.

“Now! Down to business, shall we?” The marine turned back to the crate and picked up one of the pistols lying there. “You shoot, Navigator Baggins?” he asked.

“Ah, no, I do not,” replied Bilbo, frowning at the bulky looking weapon. The captain rumbled something that sounded like ‘of course he doesn’t’ behind him, and the merman clenched his jaw.

“No matter,” Gloín said, waving the pistol about in an alarming manner. “On this ship, you will learn. The crew can all shoot with some degree of accuracy, and, eventually, you will be able to do the same. Here.” He flipped the pistol end-over-end and pointed the butt at Bilbo. Warily, the merman reached out and grabbed the gun. It was heavier than he anticipated; the end dipped and wavered dramatically when Gloín released his hold on the weapon.

“The idea,” the quartermaster continued, stepping to one side, “is to line up with your target. Hold out your arm – elbow bent just a bit, loosen your wrist, not too much – and sight down the barrel.”

“What am I shooting at?” Bilbo asked through grit teeth. He imagined he looked ridiculous.

“Bottles.” Gloín pointed at a row of glass bottles set up on the railing. They were filled with sand to keep them from falling over. “Your pistol is already loaded and primed – all you have to do is pull back the hammer and shoot.”

“I feel ridiculous,” Bilbo muttered, struggling to pull back the hammer with his other hand.

“You look ridiculous,” Dwalin told him flatly. “Take your finger off the trigger while you’re cockin’ it. Shooting your own foot off is a one way ticket off this ship.”

“I appreciate the confidence, quartermaster. There!” Bilbo brought the gun back up when the hammer finally clicked into place. “Which bottle?”

“At this point,” Gloín said, “any of them would be impressive.” The three land-walkers laughed and Bilbo sighed.

He narrowed his eyes, peering along the barrel of the gun and over the sight at the end. The bottles wavered in and out of position, causing Bilbo to growl and readjust his grip. He shifted his shoulder back slightly, braced his feet, and took a deep breath. Letting the air out of his lungs slowly, he tightened his finger on the trigger –

“Don’t shoot my ship, navigator,” the captain said darkly behind him, breaking his concentration.

“I aim only to please, captain,” Bilbo snapped in reply. Damn that man. He sucked in another sharp breath, let it out, and pulled the trigger.

The gun jumped in his hand, the recoil jerking his wrist painfully. Gloín let out a startled bark of laughter, clapping Thorin on the shoulder before shoving at Bilbo’s

“He’s got a sharp tongue, this one! And a keen eye, too. An excellent find, Captain, an excellent find!”

When the small puff of smoke and sparks cleared, Bilbo nearly dropped the gun. One of the bottles was gone, a spray of sand and glass shards in its place. It wasn’t the bottle he had been aiming for, sadly, but he wasn’t about to admit that, not when Gloín was beaming at him and even Dwalin didn’t look so grim. Bilbo felt a grin tugging at the corners of his own mouth, despite the glare the captain was leveling at him.

“Well,” Gloín continued, “now we will see if that was only beginner’s luck! I’ll teach you to load and prime later.” He took the spent gun from Bilbo and exchanged it with a fresh one. “Once more, Navigator Baggins.”

Bilbo’s next shot missed, and he glared at the bottles as he handed the gun back to Gloín. The next was slapped into his palm. It was lighter than the first two, and he looked up to find Thorin gazing at him with one eyebrow raised, daring him to comment. The captain’s gun was the same size at the other two, but it weighed less in Bilbo’s hand. Interesting. He brought it up closer to his face before extending his arm, pulling back the hammer a hand’s length from his temple. He dropped the empty hand, took a deep breath –

\- the gun went off, spitting fire and smoke, and everything was white and pain and red and fire and he was blind _blind_ –

“Mahal’s Bloody Hammer, he’s shot himself in the head-”

“No, it’s just misfired – Navigator! Navigator, move your hands so I can – ah, shit, he’s nearly burned up the side of his face. He’ll need Oín.”

Bilbo’s head was on fire. He couldn’t see. Everything _burned._ Blood filled his mouth – he had bitten his tongue. Desperately, he pulled his hands away from his face, hands slippery and clumsy as he searched for the ring. He needed water, water to put out the fire, to ease the burning pain, oh sweet Yavanna _he needed the sea._

“Navigator!” Someone grabbed him, trapping his arms at his sides, and he snarled, writhing and twisting. “Hold still, damn you!”

Bilbo continued to twist, and the back of his head connected with something that yielded slightly, followed by a loud curse. The arms trapping him only tightened, though, and one came up across his chest, further trapping him. Heat and pain pulsed in time with Bilbo’s heart. He thrashed again, and, this time, the world tilted violently and he cried out when his shoulder hit the deck.

“Fucking hell, someone knock him out!”

Pain – so much pain, why were they hurting him? Land-walkers always hurt the sea, hurt everything they touched, he knew this he knew it to be true never believed it could be true but now he knew – pain bloomed on the other side of his head, and his thoughts burned now, but burned slowly, like thick smoke, were they firing the cannons?

\- and he faded into unconsciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guns suck. Flintlock pistols aren't exactly known for their accuracy, so shit like this did actually happen. Never hold a gun close to your face. Unless it's a rifle and your sighting - whatever. Be careful with guns. 
> 
> I apologize for the wait for this one! School is a bitch (always) and my brother shattered his ankle so I pretty much spent an entire week in the hospital with him. So yeah. Oops.
> 
> Comments are really appreciated and much loved, as are plot suggestions! I always like to discuss. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, babes.
> 
> -duri


	11. On the Mend, but Decidedly Not Apologizing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The captain’s voice was dark. “Navigator, I neither require nor desire you ‘help.’” He still did not turn around. “And we are going wherever I command.”
> 
> Bilbo’s eyebrows climbed further up his forehead. What a self-righteous arse, he thought to himself. “And I suppose, Captain, you expect all of us to just follow you blindly into the unknown!”
> 
> “Yes!”
> 
> “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard! Do you even known where you’re going? And, Ulmo help me, if you say ‘West,’ I’ll throw myself overboard!” This was not an idle threat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are after quite a long wait. Apologies.

Everything was _slow,_ his thoughts sliding thickly through his mind. His body was heavy. None of his limbs responded to his sluggish attempts at moving. The throbbing on both sides of his head continued, and one side felt _hot_ for some reason. Where was he? Bilbo struggled to remember.

Voices, muffled at first, filtered through his slowed mind.

“… the eye?”

“No, the powder missed the eyeball. The heat may have damaged it some. Hopefully, his vision will not be affected.”

“Gods. Any scaring?”

“Oh, yes. He’ll have a fine spray pattern stretching from cheekbone to hairline.”

Someone swore.

Bilbo drifted again, the voices distorting as he descended back into unconsciousness.

When he woke again, he remembered.

Air burned a path down into his lungs and he sat up with a jerk – or, at least, he tried, but his body was trapped by tightly wrapped cloth. The vision in one eye was dark, and he struggled to free himself from the sheets. He had to – had to get free, get away from them, get back to the sea. Just as he jerked an arm out of the confining cloth, a land-walker appeared by his side.

“Whoa, Navigator. Calm yourself!” The land-walker was older, perhaps Balin’s age, with close-cropped grey hair. He reached for Bilbo’s hand and gently, but firmly, pulled it away from his head. “I bandaged your eye. You’ll heal, but for now the bandages must stay there. Understand?”

Bilbo stared, his mind stilly foggy. The room around him dipped and wavered.

“What – who - ?” His voice was slow and slurred. He shook his head and blinked hard. He had to wake up, wake up and get out of here.

The older man smiled. “You’re in my surgery. My name is Oín, and I am the ship’s doctor. Now, you drink this.” He held a small bottle up to Bilbo’s lips. “It will help you wake up,” he explained when Bilbo refused to open his mouth.

Yes, that’s what he wanted! Waking up. Then – then he could find out how – yes. He downed the contents of the bottle in one swallow, grimacing at the foul taste. Immediately, the fog in his head thickened, and he scowled at Oín.

“You… y-you lied,” he said, just as the darkness descended once more. The last thing he saw was the surgeon smirking.

Later, voices again. He thought he recognized some of them.

“Is he dead?”

“No, Kíli. He’s asleep.”

“Oh. Good. I like him.”

“Me, too.”

A new voice, dark and heavy, interrupted the young land-walkers. “Boys.”

“Uncle! Why did you shoot the navigator?”

Bilbo kept his eyes – eye – closed, purposefully keeping his breathing shallow and doing his best to calm his pounding heart.

The captain inhaled sharply. “What? I didn’t shoot him.”

“Then who did?”

“No one shot Mr. Baggins, Kíli. The gun misfired next to his head.”

“Oh. Okay. Good. Some of the crew were saying you got mad and shot him.”

Thorin growled something unintelligible before addressing Fíli and Kíli again. “Don’t you two have lessons to attend?”

One of the boys sighed – probably Kíli – followed by a dejected “Yes, Uncle.” The sound of retreating footsteps reached Bilbo’s ears. A door shut forcefully, and the captain snorted.

Silence filtered in, and Bilbo fought to keep as still as possible. His head was pounding again.

“Damn fool of a man you are, Navigator,” the captain swore quietly.

“How is this _my_ fault?!” The words slipped out before Bilbo could stop them. He glared as best he could with his uncovered eye while the captain gaped at him.

Thorin pointed at him accusingly and spat, “How long have you been awake?”

“Long enough to hear you call me a ‘damn fool!’” He struggled under the sheets in an attempt to sit up straight. His shoulder twinged briefly when he pushed against the bed. “If you want me off your stupid ship, all you have to do is ask! You certainly don’t have to wait for me to accidentally kill myself!”

The captain looked at him incredulously. “Wh – I don’t – what in the world are you talking about?”

Throwing up his hands – wincing when his shoulder protested, and hissing when the wince pulled at the bandaged side of his face – Bilbo scoffed, “It was _your gun_ , Captain Oakenshield! You handed me a different pistol, and it blew up in my face!”

“Are you blaming me for a misfire?”

“Why, yes, I do believe I am!”

Thorin’s jaw clenched, the tendons in his neck and a vein on his forehead standing out. “Ridiculous.”

Bilbo glanced down and saw the captain’s hands curling into fists. He swallowed and looked back up, willing himself to meet Thorin’s gaze. “Hm. Fine. The moment my eye is healed, Captain Oakenshield, is the moment I abandon this ship, do you hear me?” His words came out low and clipped.

“What’re you going to do? Dive off the starboard rail? Steal one of the johnboats and row off into the sunset?” Thorin asked. His patronizing tone made Bilbo grind his teeth and suppress a growl. He _would_ dive off the starboard rail, he decided suddenly, his glare turning into a manic grin. Broad daylight sounded like the perfect time, too. Perhaps he’d do a flip and flash his green- and gold-scaled tail as he swam away. He snorted. Stupid, arrogant, disgusting land-walkers. The looks on their faces would be something he would cherish, he knew.

“I’ll be sure to notify you when I resign my post, _captain_ ,” he drawled. “Now, get out.”

Thorin’s eyebrows shot up. “I beg your pardon?”

“Get out. Leave. Be gone. _Faigh amach._ ”

The captain’s expression bordered on murderous. “What did you just – You arrogant sod, I should have you flogged-”

The opening of the door interrupted the rest of the threat. Oín shuffled in, hands full of bandages. When he saw the look on Thorin’s face, his eyes narrowed.

“Captain,” the older man said, “if you’ve disturbed my patient-”

“He has,” Bilbo snarked.

If looks could kill, Bilbo would have been nothing more than a pile of ash. Thorin growled, “I wasn’t disturbing-!”

“Out,” interrupted the surgeon, tilting his head in the direction of the door. Bilbo swore he could hear Thorin’s teeth grinding together. It was almost comical.

“On my own bloody ship…” muttered the captain as he swept out of the room.

Oín called after him, “My surgery, my rules!”

Thorin slammed the door behind him. The surgeon sighed before scowling at Bilbo.

“You should not provoke him. He _is_ the captain.”

“He’s rude and arrogant, _and_ he tried to kill me! I’ll provoke him if I damn well please,” Bilbo bared his teeth at the older man. “And _you_ , surgeon, lied to me.”

“I lie to everyone that comes into my surgery, young man.” Oín deposited the bandages at Bilbo’s feet. “But Thorin was telling the truth about his pistol. It truly was a misfire.”

“How do you know? You weren’t there.”

Oín grabbed Bilbo by the front of his shirt and yanked him forward. “Hold still.” He began to unwrap the bandages around the merman’s head. “I know because I am an expert on injuries, and the captain would never purposefully keep a faulty weapon on his person. He would be at as much risk as anyone. Lean forward.”

The bandages came away layer by layer. Bilbo hissed quietly when fresh air ghosted across the newly bared skin and kept the eye closed. He was almost afraid to open it; what if his vision was damaged? The surgeon _tsk_ ed to himself as he prodded the merman’s face, and Bilbo fought the urge to duck out away from the painful poking. The wound began to pulse in time with his heartbeat.

“Hmm,” he said. “You’ll have an impressive scar, that’s for sure.”

“And – and my eye?” Bilbo asked softly.

“The burning powder missed your eye by a hair. Some damned good luck you’ve got, young man,” Oín chuckled. “There was some blood under the lid, but I washed out most of it. Within a week, you’ll be right as rain.”

Bilbo’s stomach rumbled loudly, interrupting his next question. He looked up sheepishly at Oín. The old surgeon chuckled.

“I’ll have someone bring you lunch in a moment – no doubt you’re ready to eat the sheets, considering how long you slept.”

“How long I – what do you mean?” he asked, a hint of panic setting in.

The surgeon only shrugged, reaching one of the many small bottles lining the box beside the bed. “Dwalin knocked you out when you started squirming like a damned sea-wyrm. You nearly broke the captain’s nose. Hold still – this might sting,” he said, dabbing at Bilbo’s temple with a cloth soaked in brown liquid from the bottle.

Bilbo yelped at the contact. “That stings!”

“I told you it might. Don’t move or it’ll get in your eye. Then you’ll _really_ be blind. Like I was saying, you just about broke Thorin’s nose when you tried to pitch him off ye’.”

“Oh, wonderful.”

“Indeed. There. All done for today.” The old surgeon tossed the rag into a barrel in the corner. Bilbo noticed it was stained red as it soared by. “Now, about that lunch?”

Bilbo nodded. “Yes, in a moment. I want to know how long was I out.” 

“Hm, the gun _misfired_ ,” Oín looked at Bilbo meaningfully, “yesterday morning. It’s just after the noon bell now. You sit tight, young man, and I’ll find you that food.”

The old surgeon waved away Bilbo’s thanks as he began to rewrap the merman’s head. A soft square of cotton soaked in something yellow was pressed over Bilbo’s eye before the long strips of cloth were wound ‘round and ‘round his skull. The dull throbbing around his eye slowly eased into numbness.

Nodding and humming in satisfaction, Oín wiped his hands on a clean cloth and stepped back. “Rest,” he ordered, and left the room.

Food later arrived, carried in by Fíli and his brother, both chatting animatedly about everything, despite Bilbo’s attempts to quiet them. Ori trailed in after them, Bilbo’s satchel of maps in his arms. The merman sighed before smiling. The three grinned widely in return.

“Uncle swears he didn’t shoot you,” Kíli announced just as Bilbo took his first bite of – of whatever it was. He nearly choked.

“And he told us – well, not really, but we know he’s sorry,” the elder brother said, shrugging. Bilbo coughed, his face reddening.

“Yes,” he wheezed, “Um. Well, he said as much earlier.”

“But you forgave him, right?”

“Erm.” The flush crawled up the back of his neck.

“But it was an accident!”

“Yes, well -”

Kíli groaned dramatically and rolled his eyes in tandem with his brother. “He’ll be grumpy for _weeks,_ now! Mister Boggins, you _have_ to forgive him. Even though it was an accident!”

“Oh, alright,” Bilbo mumbled. “But he should apologize to my face, first.”

Kíli grinned, filling the merman with a sense of dread. “Oh, he will. We’ll make sure of it.”

“Oh, dear.”

 

* * *

 

 

The boys left, but Bofur and Ferris soon replaced them.

“Aw, shit,” said Bofur the moment he saw Bilbo’s bandages. The merman cringed.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” he tried to explain, but trailed off when he saw the two land-walkers exchanging money. “What are you doing?” he growled.

Ferris smirked. “Someone told him that half your head had been shot clean off. He was stupid ‘nough to believe ‘em.”

“Amazing,” Bilbo deadpanned.

“Not that I ain’t glad you’re whole – well, for the most part! You do still have an eye, right?” Bofur pointed vaguely at the merman’s face.

Bilbo did his best to glare at the duo. Ferris had the sense to look somewhat chagrinned. “Yes, I do still have an eye, no thanks to the captain’s gun.”

More money was exchanged. “It was a misfire, and a nasty one, too, I heard,” Ferris said as he flipped two gold coins into Bofur’s palm.

“Yes, yes, a misfire, alright I get it,” Bilbo sighed and flapped his hand in the direction of the land-walkers. “It wasn’t his fault, he’s sorry, blah blah blah. It was still _his_ gun that _he_ handed to _me,_ though!”

Bofur only shrugged. “It could have been worse.”

Flabbergasted, Bilbo made an incredulous face at Ferris.

“He’s right,” Ferris said. “You could have shot a person-”

“-or _Orcrist_.”

“You’re unbelievable,” Bilbo cried, throwing his hands up in the air. “Completely crazy. It’s the sun exposure, I’m sure. Too much time spent above the surface does this to people – I had a cousin once, you know, he liked to watch fishermen, and he went quite loopy in his old age.”

Bofur grinned. “Oh, aye,” he said, a twinkle in his eye. “Crazy suits me just fine. Besides, the craziest friends are the best.”

Bilbo could not begin to fight the answering smile creeping across his face. Friends.

 

* * *

 

 

Ori brought him his satchel and a fresh pot of ink the next morning, visibly brightening when Bilbo asked him to sit with him for a few minutes while he worked. Redrawing the worst of the maps was an arduous task made all the more difficult by the absence of one eye. His head began to ache before long, and the skin on the burned side of his face felt tight and over-warm. Oín appeared as if summoned by the idea of pain showing its face in his surgery and shooed Ori out at once before slapping a fresh bandage over Bilbo’s eye. He tsked at the merman the entire time.

“You’ll overwork your good eye, and then you’ll be weak-sighted in both. Slow down. Drink this,” he said as he tipped a spoonful of medicine into Bilbo’s mouth. Bilbo swallowed obediently and tried not to gag.

“I feel like I’m obligated to recommend you do something to that medicine – no one will take it if it continues to taste that terrible.”

“They’ll take it if I tell them to take it. Count backwards from one hundred.”

“Why?” Bilbo asked, blinking his good eye rapidly when the headache suddenly cleared, only to be replaced by the fog of sleep. “Oh. You really should warn someone before – be – before you dose ‘em up.” His tongue felt thick.

Oín carefully set the maps, pens, and ink on the table beside the cot and gave him a pointed look. “Stop fighting it.”

The merman tried to role his eyes – well, eye – but as soon as he looked at the ceiling, sleep overcame him.

 

* * *

 

 

In the end, he had to sneak out of Oín’s surgery in order to escape the overbearing (if well-meaning) doctor. Bilbo’s first order of business was to find Gandalf and curse him within an inch of his life, but the wizard was nowhere to be found. Word amongst the crew was that Gandalf had taken his little boat in the middle of the night and vanished. Of course. Bilbo swore colorfully in his own language, much to the amusement of the nearby crew.

Later, Oín caught him hiding behind the crates at the stern of the ship and scolded him for ages before grumpily deciding Bilbo could return to his normal duties.

“I was gonna take off your bandages tonight anyhow,” Oín growled, squinting at the merman before stepping back down belowdecks. Ori made a quiet choking noise, followed by some poorly faked coughing when Bilbo glared at him.

“I was down there for nearly a _week_ , Ori! Any longer and I would have absolutely lost my mind.” He shuddered, scrunching up his face as he gestured vaguely at the open ocean surrounding them. “I need to swim.”

Ori only laughed.

“I’m serious! A few minutes with the currents pulling me here and there, that’s what I need.” What he really needed was a few hours without the ring. He could feel it weighing unnaturally heavy on his finger. His legs itched.

“Good luck finding time for that,” Ori said. “We probably won’t stop until we’re almost out of supplies.”

“And when will that be?”

Frowning, Ori shrugged. “You shouldn’t be so eager to run out of food and fresh water. We already ration what we have, just in case we find ourselves nowhere near an island.”

Bilbo once again gestured at the water. “Ori. There are literally thousands of fish within a mile of us at almost any given moment.”

“Thousands?”

“Thousands. Any kind you want, right below us.”

Ori looked astonished. “Well, I suppose you’d know, having lived your whole life at sea… I don’t know if the captain can spare any men for fishing duty all day, though.”

Bilbo raised one skeptical eyebrow.

“It would take ages to catch enough for the entire crew! How many men do you think are on this ship?”

“Erm… forty? No, at least sixty,” Bilbo replied hesitantly.

“More like about one hundred and fifty – and that’s not even a full complement!” He lowered his voice and Bilbo had to lean closer in order to hear Ori. “The _Orcrist_ is dangerously undercrewed, according to Nori. She’s supposed to carry nearly three hundred sailors, but too many were lost in the war, and even more thought the captain was crazy to go on this quest.” Abruptly, Ori stopping talking and pressed his lips tightly together. He glanced at the deck around them before leaning closer and whispering. “Forget I said that. Just – just forget all of that. We’re not … oh, sea gods, please don’t tell anyone I told you that, Mister Bilbo. We’re not allowed to tell outsiders what happened.”

Bilbo frowned. “Ori, what are you talking about?”

The young man was furiously chewing on his lower lip. “I can’t-” He stopped talking and shook his head rapidly.

“Alright, alright,” Bilbo murmured, raising his hands in a placating gesture. “Keep your secrets. I won’t tell anyone, so calm down!” He leaned back and sighed. “But I’m not a fool! I realize there’s something going on – something that no one is supposed to talk about, apparently – and that this particular ‘something’,” he cast a meaningful look at Ori and continued, “concerns your home country and your captain. Additionally, said captain is obsessed with sailing West for what, treasure? New lands? Fame?”

Ori scowled and snapped, “He isn’t like that! He’s looking for his-” He immediately slapped both hands over his mouth, and his eyes widened. “I didn’t say that!” he mumbled through his fingers. “I never said that!”

“Ori, please. Who would I tell?” Bilbo raised his one visible eyebrow. The movement tugged uncomfortably at the bandages. “All of you already know what’s going on. I’m the only outsider here.”

“That’s why we can’t say! You’re not from Erebor! Now, stop talking about it. Someone will hear us and I’ll get in trouble – and you could be thrown overboard!” Ori looked around frantically, the look in his eyes suggesting he fully expected Dwalin or someone equally terrifying to appear and toss them both over the railing.

Bilbo frowned but returned to working on the maps. His curiosity was piqued now, there was no denying it. What had started as an innocent conversation about fish had quickly evolved into something _much_ more intriguing, and Bilbo was determined to get to the bottom of it, one way or another.

 

* * *

 

 

Answers to Bilbo’s questions were slow in coming. Armed with only a name – Erebor – he began attempting to subtly drop hints whenever he spoke to the crew. The only clues he received were bits of generally useless information. Erebor was a small kingdom to the East, with a single massive port on its southern border. The kingdom was essentially a solitary mountain with a few leagues of flat land stretching around it. The mountain housed the citizens of Erebor in virtually unending tunnels and underground halls.

Kíli, fortunately, was more than delighted to boast of the prowess of Erebor’s shipyards. The finest warships in the world were built in his home, and _Orcrist_ was one of the fastest ships ever built.

“She’s a _Zagarinh_ – um, that means ‘sword-lady’ in Westron, I think,” the boy informed him. “Only one in her class! Bigger than a brig, obviously, since she’s got three masts and more guns, but not as big as a ship of the line. Uncle Thorin designed her. That’s why she’s different. But she’s better! She’ll outsail anything on the water! Grandfather’s ships were built to meet the enemy head on.” He made a sound like an explosion. “You know, lining up for a broadside and blowing the other ship to pieces. Uncle designed _Orcrist_ to be sneaky – to slip in, blow off their rudder, and slip out before they even know what’s happening!”

Bilbo nodded like he knew what the boy was talking about. “Right. Sounds like your family knows their way around a warship?”

Kíli scoffed. “Yes, Mister Bilbo. That’s putting it lightly, I’d say. But now… well,” he trailed off, looking away and scuffing his boots against the deck.

Bilbo waited silently. He was rewarded for his patience when the boy sighed and turned back.

“Well… you know,” Kíli whispered. “The war. Since all the fighting started, the shipyards only had time to repair ships after battles. No more new designs. We’re not supposed to talk about it…” He made a face at Bilbo and shrugged. “But you’re one of us, now? And you’re the only outsider on the ship – besides Gandalf, but he doesn’t count – so it’s not like you’d tell anybody else. Right?”

“Ah, well,” Bilbo sighed. “You’re right, I am the only ‘outsider’ onboard. If telling me about all this is going to get you in trouble, then I would prefer you didn’t. But being Navigator for this quest will be rather difficult if I don’t exactly know what we’re questing for.”

“No one knows what we’re looking for.”

Bilbo gaped, his uninjured eye widening. “What?”

“Only Uncle Thorin, Gandalf, and Mister Balin know. Maybe Mister Dwalin, too.”

“And the rest of you just _follow_ their lead? The captain could be leading you to some horrible doom!”

A scandalized look appeared on Kíli’s face. “Uncle Thorin would never do that – well, not on purpose. Besides, he’s more likely to get us lost than anything. That’s why he hired you!” The boy grinned brightly. “And of course we ‘just follow their lead.’ Gandalf’s a wizard, Mister Balin is the Royal Advisor, and Uncle Thorin’ll be King eventually.”

“ _He’ll be what?!_ ” Bilbo’s shrill whisper startled Kíli.

“Uh oh. That’s one of the things outsiders _definitely_ aren’t s’posed to know.”

Thorin was in line for the Ereborian throne.

Prince Thorin.

Oh dear.

 

* * *

 

 

It took Bilbo the rest of the day to digest this bit of information. Kíli followed him around nervously for hours, occasionally asking him if he was going to faint. The boy had gnawed his lower lip bloody by the end of the day, and Bilbo felt like a complete twit when he noticed.

“Kíli,” he said, “I’ll be fine. I’m just a bit, hm, overwhelmed by what you said. Please don’t worry. Oh, and I won’t tell anyone.”

Ori found them after supper, and the older boy gasped when he caught the looks on their faces.

“You told him!” he hissed, ushering them to a deserted portion of the deck. “Why did you tell him?”

Kíli dodged Ori’s shoves and replied, “It was an accident! And he swore not to tell anyone I told him! Right, Mister Bilbo?” The boy looked up at Bilbo nervously.

“I did swear. I won’t tell.”

Kíli grinned, relief shining in his eyes. He turned back to Ori. “Besides, he would have found out anyways. And it’s not like I told him anything serious, like Azog taking Ereb-”

Ori’s hand shot out and smothered Kíli’s mouth. He let out a particularly colorful curse and glared at Kíli while trying to watch Bilbo at the same time.

The merman only stared. Azog. The tyrant. Of course! How did he not see it all sooner?!

 

* * *

 

 

The boys made him swear up and down in what felt like hundreds of different ways not to tell a single person – _ever_ – about what he now knew before letting him go to bed. Bilbo promised them – and really, who would he tell? Everyone around him already knew. He contemplated cornering Gandalf in their shared cabin and demanding answers, but decided against it. If the occasion called for it, maybe he could surprise the wizard and give him a taste of his own medicine.

He was halfway to his cabin when someone grabbed him on his blindside. He yelped and tried to jerk away, but whoever it was held him in an iron grip. When he finally got turned around enough to see who was assaulting him, he was greeted with Oín’s satisfied grin.

“Yer a jumpy one, aren’t ya?” the surgeon growled good-naturedly.

Bilbo scowled in reply and snatched his arm out of Oín’s grip. “It’s not polite to sneak up on unsuspecting folk,” he said.

Oín stared. “Do ye want the bandages off or no? Cause if not, I’ve got stitches to pull out of one of the midshipmen, and that fella Nori brought from his inn is still seasick, and-”

“Alright, alright! Yes, I want the bandages off!” Bilbo threw up his hands and sighed theatrically. Oín snorted and led him to the surgery.

The surgeon pushed Bilbo none too gently into a chair and began to pick at the end of the bandage.

“Wait!” cried Bilbo.

Oín leaned back and gave Bilbo a look.

“What – what if I wasn’t ready? You didn’t even say anything! Should I close my eyes or should I-”

“Navigator.”

“I think I might want to leave the bandages on-”

“Navigator.”

“…yes?”

“Your eye is fine. You won’t be blind.” The old surgeon coughed, and it sounded suspiciously like the word ‘hopefully.’ Without waiting for a reply from Bilbo, he resumed unwinding the bandages from the merman’s head. When he neared the end, he told Bilbo to close his eyes. The merman could feel the air hit his cheekbone and eyelid after the last bandage was removed. The sudden colder temperature sent a chill running down his spine. He swallowed convulsively.

Oín wiped the side of his face with a damp cloth. It stung a little.

“Alright,” the surgeon said when he finished cleaning old medicine off Bilbo’s face. “You can open ‘em.”

Bilbo took a deep breath. The air didn’t burn his lungs so bad anymore, he noticed distantly, and cracked open his eyes.

His vision was blurred and his eye burned after being suddenly exposed to air, but he could see!

“I’m not blind!” he gasped.

“Told ye,” Oín said, tossing the bandage into the waiting bin.

The merman blinked rapidly, chasing away the blur. He brought up one hand to rub at the eye, but Oín caught him halfway.

“Ah, careful. Your face is still healing.”

Bilbo allowed his fingers to carefully graze his cheekbone, and winced at the light burn when his fingernail brushed the skin. The blur in his vision faded as he ran his fingers lightly over the side of his face, feeling out the burn from the gun.

“You’ll have a right nice scar, to be sure. Powder burns always leave interesting ones. I’d say yours is… fan shaped, and it looks like it might end up blue. Pistol powder’ll do that sometimes.”

“Oh,” whispered Bilbo.

The surgeon clapped him on the shoulder. “Your first war wound! Something to share with the lasses back home, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Keep it clean, don’t scratch it, and it’ll be fine. Now, off with ye. I’ve got other things to deal with, and you getting all weird an’ upset sure as hell ain’t one of them.”

 

* * *

 

 

Bilbo allowed his fingers to dance idly over the raised scab on his cheek. It was swiftly turning to a scar, and he fought the urge to pick at it. The boys told him it made him look dashing. This incurred a deep roll of both eyes. Dashing, him? Ridiculous. He hummed tunelessly and tapped his pen against the top of the crate he was using as a table.

He had seen the captain twice since their argument in Oín’s surgery. The land-walker ignored him completely the first time. The second time had a more auspicious beginning, considering that the man had opened his mouth to say _something_ , but quickly turned away and stalked to the opposite side of the ship. This time, however, Bilbo was determined to get at least one word out of the land-walker.

The captain was speaking with Dwalin, and as he concluded the conversation and turned away, Bilbo casually-on-purpose walked into his path. Thorin froze.

“Navigator,” he growled after a few terse seconds of silence.

Bilbo barely had the first syllable of ‘captain’ out of his mouth before the land-walker brushed by him and descended into the ship’s hold. The merman grumbled low in his throat and ignored Dwalin’s amused stare.

So that’s how it was going to be, was it? Fine.

Currently, the merman was pretending to work on the maps at his usual spot behind the helm. He was actually attempting to draw up a plan that involved forcing the captain to apologize while at the same time preventing the land-walker from bodily harming him. It wasn’t going well, even in his head. Thorin Oakenshield was a particularly difficult land-walker, Bilbo surmised with a growl. Yet, even as he finished that thought, he remembered who Thorin really was – a member of the royal house of a fallen kingdom, burdened with the knowledge that he was possibly the only defense his people had – and a hint of guilt flowed through him.

He returned to the map. A few faint lines required darkening, and then a few more. Before long, he was absorbed in the work. When he glanced up later, it was dusk.

The sky was stained orange and purple and a host of colors in between; Bilbo couldn’t help but remember how the light of a setting sun cuts through the sea. He sighed, part longing, part… he wasn’t sure what the other part was, if he’s being honest with himself.

The sunset has stolen his concentration, and his sigh turned to a growl when he tried and failed to recall which part of the giant map of Rhovanion he’d been working on. Not that it mattered, a small voice in the back of his head said. It sounded a bit like cousin Lobelia, curiously enough. Most of the map was of the Northeastern lands, and he had no childhood bedtime stories of that part of the world. He leaned over and darkened the fading outline of a river as it wound its way East out of a sheltered bay. A single mountain was nestled in the curve of the river just as it left the bay, and the faint words above it read ‘ _Erebor, The Lonely Mountain._ ’

So this was where these land-walkers called home, Bilbo mused. He frowned. This was where Azog had probably pillaged and burned, turning out the people and taking the city for his own. This was where Thorin would one day be king, if they ever returned from this quest.

Carefully, he re-outlined the mountain and the words above it. With his pen poised over the _M_ of _Mountain_ , he paused. Footsteps advancing in the direction of his workspace drew him out of his thoughts.

“I’ll take her from here.” It was the captain. Bilbo glanced up from the map.

“Aye, sir,” replied the sailor at the helm, and relinquished the spoked wheel to Thorin. “Captain at the helm!” he called out as he descended to the main deck. The call carried through the rigging and forward as the crew above decks passed it along.

Bilbo’s attention was inevitably drawn back to the captain – Prince of Erebor, his mind whispered – no matter how hard he tried work on the map. The land-walker was coatless, the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up to his elbows, and the tails once again were not tucked in all the way around. Bilbo suppressed a snort. The captain’s sword was absent, as were two of the three pistols Bilbo had seen the night of the gunnery exercise. The gun wasn’t the same one that had blown up in his face, the merman noticed darkly.

Thorin did not appear to have seen Bilbo, which was perfectly fine with him. This was the perfect opportunity to force an apology out of the land-walker, as soon as he thought up what to say. Bilbo allowed himself a few more seconds of glaring (and more than a few seconds of unabashed ogling, if he was being honest) before returning to the map. The captain seemed… different, Bilbo concluded grudgingly. Comfortable, perhaps. More relaxed that Bilbo had ever seen him, that was for sure. His grip on the helm was loose, and his stance was wide and balanced.

Several minutes passed. Bilbo would need a lamp if he were to continue working, now. He looked up and around hesitantly, wondering if it was worth it to break the tranquility of the quarterdeck.

He drew in the breath to speak up and nearly choked when Thorin began humming.

Bilbo’s mouth gaped open. He shut it with a muffled click of teeth. The constant crash of waves against the hull of the ship muted the sound. The captain’s humming drifted in and out of hearing for a while until it turned to softly sung words.

Heat crawled up Bilbo’s spine and suffused his face. Any plan he may have come up with for confronting the captain was useless now. There was a good chance the land-walker would kill him if he spoke up, Bilbo thought wryly. Silence on his part was fine. Bilbo was perfectly content to remain hidden as he listened.

            _Through smoke and fire and shot and shell,_

_And to the very walls of hell,_

_But we shall stand and we shall stay_

_Over the hills and far away_

_Over the hills and o’er the main,_

_To Khazad-dûm and Beleriand._

_Our land commands and we’ll obey_

_Over the hills and far away._

Thorin’s deep voice carried well. He returned to humming, tapping out the song’s steady rhythm with one booted heel.

Bilbo jotted down the words on a scrap of parchment. Khazad-dûm and Beleriand. He knew of Beleriand, of course, but not Khazad-dûm. He glanced over at the map of Rhovanion, hoping for an answer, but found nothing.

The wind shifted. Thorin’s humming ended with a grunt as he tightened his grip on the wheel and eased it slightly to port. Bilbo waited, half-hoping the captain would begin the song again. Nothing.

When he glanced away from the captain, Bilbo noticed the sun was only the smallest curve of fire in front of them. Just as the last glimpse of light vanished, a sailor came up from the main deck with a lantern, lighting the fixed lamps scattered about the ship as he went along.

“Captain,” he murmured.

Thorin nodded once in reply.

The sailor spotted Bilbo amongst the crates and grinned. “Oh, gee, Navigator,” he mock scolded. “I would ‘ave come sooner had I known you were workin’.”

Thorin jerked around, his expression morphing into a skin-peeling glare when he spotted Bilbo. The merman cheerfully (fearfully) ignored the captain’s look.

“It’s quite alright,” he told the sailor. “I – I was just about to, er, come fetch a lamp anyhow!”

The land-walker scoffed in response as he lit the lamps nearest Bilbo. Their soft light washed over the quarterdeck.

“Evenin’,” called the sailor over his shoulder as he returned to the main deck.

Thorin was facing forward again, his hands gripping the wheel tightly and his entire stance stiff. Bilbo, not for the first time, pondered vaulting the railing. He _had_ sworn to ‘resign’ once his face was healed, hadn’t he?

“How long have you been sitting there?” Thorin growled.

The question startled Bilbo into moving. “What?” He was halfway to his feet, map forgotten. Thorin repeated the question, this time glaring over his shoulder. Bilbo tried to casually lean against a crate in order to cover up his aborted escape.

“Erm. Since dinner?”

Thorin snorted, but said nothing. Bewildered, Bilbo resumed his seat. His eyes never left the captain. Ages passed, or perhaps only a few minutes. Bilbo wasn’t sure; time seemed to move differently above the surface, particularly around Thorin Oakenshield. Bilbo started to quietly shift his things into a pile and was preparing to slide them into his bag when the lyrics of Thorin’s half-hummed song caught his attention.

“Where’s Khazad-dûm?” he blurted, and nearly slapped a hand over his own mouth. Thorin tensed, and Bilbo launched into an apology. “Sorry, no, forget I said anything – it doesn’t matter-”

“Khazad-dûm,” Thorin said, pronouncing the word differently than Bilbo had. It rolled off his tongue like it belonged in his mouth. “It is one of the lost kingdoms.”

“…like Arnor?” Bilbo ventured, recalling the empty ocean north of the Shire.

Thorin grunted in affirmation.

An idea struck Bilbo. “Is that what you’re looking for, then? The Lost Realm of Khazad-dûm?”

“No,” came the flat response. “Khazad-dûm is behind us.”

“What – behind us – then where are we going?” So much for that idea.

“West.”

“Yes, obviously West! But _where_?” Bilbo asked, leaning forward in his seat.

Thorin growled, “That is-”

“-‘none of my concern,’ yes, I _know._ But Captain, I cannot help you if I do not know where you intend to take this ship!”

The captain’s voice was dark. “Navigator, I neither require nor desire you ‘help.’” He still did not turn around. “And we are _going_ wherever I command.”

Bilbo’s eyebrows climbed further up his forehead. What a self-righteous arse, he thought to himself. “And I suppose, _Captain_ , you expect all of us to just follow you blindly into the unknown!”

“ _Yes!_ ”

“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard! Do you even known where you’re going? And, Ulmo help me, if you say ‘West,’ I’ll throw myself overboard!” This was not an idle threat.

“Be my guest!” snapped Thorin, jerked his chin in the direction of the railing. He turned, keeping one hand on the wheel. He looked as if he was contemplating whether to shoot Bilbo or just strangle him. His eyes focused on the right side of the merman’s face – the scarred side – and his expression morphed into something unreadable.

He spat something in a language Bilbo didn’t understand before turning back to the helm.

“Oh, so we’re playing the language game, are we?” Bilbo fought to keep the shrill note of hysteria out of his voice. “Well, Yavanna save me from the nearly _blinding_ stupidity of land walkers, because _seachas sin, beidh mé iallach a bhuail an gceann seo in aghaidh le mo eireaball!_ ” He shoved his work into his bag and stalked up the quarterdeck. As he passed the helm (out of arms reach, just to be safe) he hissed, “ _Ith iasc lofa, anáil míol mór.”_

Triumph at the captain’s incredulous expression prompted Bilbo to bare his teeth at the land-walker. His sharp eye-teeth poked out over his lips, and he nearly laughed aloud at Thorin’s face.

 

* * *

 

 

They dodged each other for days. Bilbo kept to the stern of the ship amongst his crates unless the captain visited the helm, and Thorin remained locked up in his cabin for hours on end.

The _Orcrist_ sailed straight through West Farthing and was deep into Westmarch before Bilbo realized where they were. He looked back at the waters of his home with no small amount of longing. If he squinted, he could see the top of Michel Delving’s largest reef rising out of the water. Homesickness struck his heart all at once. He sighed, grit his teeth, and forced himself to turn away.

 

* * *

 

 

The next time Bilbo and the captain spoke was no better than the first. Bilbo came upon the land-walker sitting _in his spot_ on the quarterdeck with the pieces of something metal laid out on Bilbo’s crate.

He sputtered angrily, “What – Captain - !”

Thorin looked up and sighed. He raised one eyebrow in challenge. Heat flooded Bilbo’s face, and the burn scar flared slightly hotter than the rest of him. He brought up one hand to touch the scar without thinking, and Thorin’s eyes tracked the movement.

Abruptly, the captain looked down at the pieces of metal in his hands. His expression changed, and he seemed… awkward, almost. No. Surely it was a new form of anger, or irritation?

“It’s the pistol,” the land-walker said, the words sounding like they were being dragged out of him by force. “The one that misfired. I’ve been working on it, trying to figure out – I’m fixing it.”

“So you admit there was something wrong with it when it nearly killed me?” Bilbo snapped.

Thorin gaped at him stupidly for a fraction of a second before his eyebrows came together in another hair-raising glare. “What – it didn’t nearly-” he growled something in his own language “- I didn’t know there was something wrong. It worked perfectly the last time I fired it.”

“Oh, so now you’re saying it’s _my_ fault it ‘misfired?’” Bilbo nearly threw up his hands in disbelief. “ _Dochreidte_.”

“It was a misfire!” Thorin shot back.

Bilbo pointed at him triumphantly. “But you’re not denying that you think it was my fault!”

Thorin dragged one palm down his face. “How can a _mis_ fire be someone’s fault?”

This time, Bilbo did throw his hands skyward. “How the hell should I know?! That was only the third time I’ve touched a gun in my _life_!”

The captain’s mouth dropped open. “Only the – where in Mahal’s name did Gandalf find you? Even my nephews can shoot – Kíli even better than his brother, and he’s only fifteen!”

Bilbo wondered how this turned into a discussion of his abilities.

“My people don’t dash about trying to kill each other all the damned time!” he said. “We’ve no need for guns!” Mostly because guns don’t exactly work underwater, but Bilbo wasn’t about to say _that_.

“Your people! Like you’re from the bloody moon or something!” Thorin looked like he was ready to punch something. Bilbo prayed it wasn’t going to be him. “How come I’ve never seen any of ‘your people’ in all the months I’ve been out here?” He looked at Bilbo expectantly.

“We’re good at hiding,” replied Bilbo through clenched teeth and spun on his heel, stalking away from Thorin. He would find somewhere else to work today.

 

* * *

 

 

Kíli cornered him the next morning at breakfast. The youth looked harried and shifted from foot to foot, looking over one shoulder occasionally.

“What’s wrong?” Bilbo asked, leaning down until he was eye level with the boy. Fíli entered the room, found them, and darted to his brother’s side. With a deep inhale, he shook his head.

“You’ve got to forgive him. Please,” he breathed. Kíli nodded in and grabbed at the front of Bilbo’s jacket.

“He’s unbearable. Mister Bilbo, please make it stop,” Kíli begged.

“Um,” replied Bilbo, glancing about the room nervously. Near them, Bofur shifted in his seat uncomfortably.

“They’ve got a point,” the land-walker hissed. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen the captain so out of sorts in my life.”

Bilbo chewed the inside of his cheek. “Oh.”

“ _Please_ , Mister Bilbo,” breathed Fíli. “We can’t go on like this.”

“Why do I have to fix this?” Bilbo asked, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m the one that got shot – er, well, almost shot.”

Fíli looked distinctly unimpressed. “You’ve healed, haven’t you?”

“Yes, well, mostly? But that’s not the point - !”

“It was a misfire-”

“I _know_.”

“Then why do you keep fighting with him?”

“Because he – he continues to argue with me!”

The land-walkers stared at him with various expressions of disappointment and bemusement.

Bilbo pointed his finger at each of them in turn. “No,” he said. “It’s not my fault he’s an utter arse.”

Kíli looked ready to burst into tears, and Fíli dragged him away before he could fall at Bilbo’s feet and clutch at the merman’s legs. Bilbo waves his hands at Bofur in a ‘don’t blame me’ gesture.

He receives no less than two dozens pleas from various members of the crew over the next twenty-four hours. Most of the land-walkers begging him to do something about the captain were men he didn’t even know. Occasionally, Kíli, his brother, Ori, or a combination of all three appeared at his side, all wide-eyed innocence.

“Not my fault!” he reminded them through clenched teeth before they could say a word.

The next morning, he opened his cabin door to a red-faced Ori. Kíli was with him, a determined tilt to his brow. He looked so much like Thorin that Bilbo stepped back automatically. Blinking away the remnants of sleep, he peered closely at Ori.

“What’s happened now?”

Ori was biting his lip and refused to answer. Kíli stepped toe-to-toe with Bilbo and took a deep breath.

“This has to stop,” the boy demanded.

“I haven’t done anything?”

“Exactly! You have to stop fighting with Uncle, Mister Bilbo! He’s yelled at Ori – at _Ori_ – and told Mister Balin to bugger off. He _never_ yells at Ori! No one ever yells at Ori!”

“Are you alright, Ori?” Bilbo leaned around Kíli to look at the older boy.

“Oh, I’m fine,” sighed Ori. “Just embarrassed.”

Kíli looked up at Bilbo pleadingly. The merman felt his resolve crumble, stone by stone until only a pile of dejected rubble remained.

“Alright,” he breathed. “Okay. Fine.”

Bilbo feared Kíli might pass out for a moment. The boy gaped at him before smiling impossibly wide.

“Thank you, Mister Bilbo! Oh, thank you. Thank the sea-gods and thank you and thank Mahal and-”

“Kíli. Don’t make me change my mind.”

The boy clammed up at once.

“Now, where is he?” He brushed passed Kíli and out into the hall. “If we’re doing this, we’re doing it right now.”

Kíli scrambled to keep up. Ori trailed behind nervously. “He’s in his cabin!”

Okay. Oooh-kay. Bilbo took a deep breath. And another. He wheezed slightly. He could do this. He was an adult. He could handle one arsehole land-walker. He was capable – oh dear, he was on deck already. Kíli was right behind him, breathing hard and ushering him along.

What was he going to say? ‘I’m sorry’ didn’t really seem adequate at this point. ‘I’m sorry I shouted at you in the surgery and basically threw you out even though you were extremely rude.’ Ah, yes, that would do wonderfully, Bilbo thought sarcastically. It was exactly what he needed to say in order to be punched in the face.

Kíli guided him to the captain’s cabin door. “Knock,” the boy ordered. Bilbo raised his fist and was a scant inch away from pounding on the wood when someone inside shouted, “FINE!” It was Thorin, of course. “But it’s not my fault he’s a stubborn, ever-present-“

The door popped open, revealing an incensed captain, shadowed by Balin.

“You,” Thorin blurted.

“Um,” Bilbo responded intelligently.

A wonderful start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo's native language in this fic is Gaelic pretending to be mer-language. Thorin's is obviously Khuzdul. 
> 
> Translations: 
> 
> Faigh amach = Go away. 
> 
> Seachas sin, beidh mé iallach a bhuail an gceann seo in aghaidh le mo eireaball. = Otherwise, I'll be forced to hit this one in the face with my tail.
> 
> Ith iasc lofa, anáil míol mór. = Eat rotten fish, whale breath. (A decidedly ocean-appropriate insult, me thinks.)
> 
> Dochreidte. = Incredible
> 
> The song Thorin sings, Over the Hills and Far Away, is a sea shanty. Different versions of the lyrics can be found on Wikipedia, and a recording can be found in the Sea Shanty volume of Assassin's Creed: Black Flag soundtrack hehehe. (Not my favorite recording, but you get the idea.) I tweaked the lyrics to fit the story. Expect a lot of that sort of thing. 
> 
>  
> 
> I do believe I owe you all an apology and an explanation. Clearly, I didn't make the Big Bang work, and I'm truly sorry for that. I wanted to do it, but couldn't get it together. Real Life is a thing that does happen, and I can't always control how it happens. Fic is something I do as a hobby, and for a while I had to put aside that hobby and concentrate on college. I have no talent for balancing schoolwork and other activities, and usually the less important things get dropped for a while. While fanfiction is indeed important, and The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings will always hold an incredibly special place in my heart, none of that will get me a job after college. So, school first, play later, and I can't really apologize for that. But thank you all for sticking around and continuing to leave kudos and comments on this story. I love you all.
> 
> -duri


	12. Storm's a-Brewin'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HUGE S/O to Max and Zacky for leaving some of the most incredible comments I have ever received on anything! Thanks again you guys <3

“Good morning, Uncle!” Kíli said, nudging Bilbo pointedly in the back. Bilbo smiled nervously.

Thorin inhaled sharply and turned to glare over his shoulder at Balin. The old man looked out over the deck with an innocent expression on his face. Growling unintelligibly under his breath, Thorin stepped to one side and Balin exited the cabin. “Good day to you all,” the old man said. “Kíli, I believe you and I have some history lessons to attend.”

Kíli made a disgusted sound that turned into a squeak when Balin grabbed him by the back of his collar and began frog marching him away. Just before the two descended into the hold, Kíli managed to fix Bilbo with a pointed glare.

Bilbo flapped one hand at the boy and muttered to himself, “Alright, alright.”

“Navigator,” Thorin grumbled.

“…Yes?” Bilbo turned back to the captain and tried to refrain from gnawing on the inside of his cheek. The land-walker looked down his nose at the merman before sighing explosively and stepping back into his cabin. He looked back expectantly at Bilbo.

“Oh. Um. Alright.” Bilbo eased into the room and just barely avoided being whacked by the door when Thorin pushed it closed. He shifted his weight back and forth. Thorin stared for a moment before clenching his jaw and turning to shuffle some papers on the massive desk.

Bilbo swallowed. Thorin continued to ignore him. The large glass windows behind the captain offered the merman a momentary distraction.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, Bilbo sorted out what he wanted to say in his mind and opened his mouth. The captain abruptly dropped what he was doing and turned to face him. He also looked on the verge of saying something, but his mouth shut with a sharp click. Bilbo’s breath squeaked. One of Thorin’s hands closed into a fist.

“I should- ” Thorin started.

“Look, everyone’s- ” Bilbo stammered.

They both stopped and looked everywhere but at one another. Bilbo tried again.

“I shouldn’t have- ”

“ – I’ve been- ”

Thorin made a strangled noise deep in his throat. Bilbo hummed nervously.

“You first,” the captain said in a rush. A dark glower quieted Bilbo’s noise of protest.

“Alright, fine!” he hissed, flexing his fingers and shifting back and forth. His legs itched something terrible. “I – hm, well, everyone’s been begging me so – I wanted to apologize. For assuming this,” he gestured vaguely at the side of his head, “was your fault. I jumped to conclusions. And I yelled at you. So. I, um, I’m sorry for that.”

Thorin snorted, and Bilbo looked over just in time to see the corner of the captain’s mouth twitch upward briefly. He could hear a hint of laughter in Thorin’s voice when he spoke.

“Coincidentally, Navigator, I also wanted to ask your forgiveness. I was… unnecessarily harsh.”

“Yes, well, I _did_ almost break your nose,” Bilbo quipped, the words coming unbidden to his mouth. Thorin let out a bark of laughter. His teeth showed through the dark of his beard when he grinned at the floor, and Bilbo felt a sudden rush of heat flow up the back of his neck and to his face. His heart did a funny little jump in his chest.

“Right, well,” he stammered, stepping backwards. Thorin looked up at him curiously. “Um, I’ll just – I’ve got things? Things to do – so, I’ll leave you to it, then. Good morning.” He yanked open the door and darted through. His heart was pounding for some reason and his lungs felt empty no matter how deeply he breathed. What was wrong with him? He was being ridiculous! The apology went well, so what on Arda was he doing fleeing like that?

The ship rocked with the waves. The sea! That must be it! He needed to swim – to slip off the magic ring and roll beneath the surf for a few hours. Surely, that would fix whatever the hell was wrong with him. But how? When? The merman wiggled his toes uncomfortably in his boots and retreated to the stern of the ship. He would figure something out.

 

* * *

 

 

They called an unspoken truce after the forced apology, he and Thorin. Bilbo does his best to forget about the whole misfire-incident and refrains from contradicting the captain at every turn. Thorin doesn’t growl at him half as much as before, and Bilbo takes this as an improvement. A great deal of effort goes into suppressed sighs and bitten off words. There are no more small smiles or startled laughter, however. Thorin is stiff in body and manner whenever Bilbo is around, and the merman does his best to stay out of the captain’s way.

Their behavior causes no end of amusement for the crew. Bilbo knows for a fact that Nori has begun a betting pool for which of them will blow up first – Ferris cheerfully informed Bilbo that his money was on Thorin.

“You’re a mite less aggressive than the ol’ captain,” the land-walker had told him. Bilbo wasn’t sure if this was a compliment or not.

Of course, it all went to hell the very next day.

Bilbo woke that morning to find the sharp peaks of the ocean mountain range known as Ered Luin rising from the waves perhaps half a day’s swim from the _Orcrist_. The mountains rose straight from the sea; no sand-covered beaches softened the base of the stone. As they moved about the ship, the crew occasionally cast a wary glance at the forbidding peaks. A thin fog began to crawl over the surface toward the ship, and dark, heavy clouds obscured the sun overhead.

From his seat at the stern of the ship, Bilbo watched the mountains. They appeared to be sailing toward a small pass in the range. Dori wasn’t at the helm – some young land-walker with nervous hands was steering the ship, and Bilbo watched him with no small amount of trepidation. He could see the first shard of algae-slick stone some distance to their port side.

“Um, careful now,” he said to the helmsman.

The land-walker barely glanced at him. “What for?”

“What do you – the great bloody mountain range below us, that’s what for. You’ll run this ship into the side of one of the peaks if you aren’t careful.”

The helmsman frowned and peered at the points of stone up ahead. “I’ll steer around them.”

“And what if you there are some below the surface?” Bilbo hissed.

The land-walker looked at him, one eyebrow raised. “We’re much too far from land for underwater traps like that, Navigator. Don’t worry.”

“But this is the – oh, forget it!” Bilbo drifted away from the helm in a dark cloud of anger. He _knew_ what was what beneath the surface! Why did the land-walkers never believe him? He retreated belowdecks. Most of the crew was either on duty or asleep, so it was quiet in the hull. The soothing sound of flowing water could be heard faintly all around Bilbo. Once he was in his little cabin, he took a deep breath and pressed his ear against the side of the ship.

Abruptly, the nausea of homesickness washed over him. Tears sprang unbidden to his eyes and he dashed them away furiously. He never had to deal with tears underwater. Crying, yes, but never the stupid tears. He slid to the floor and hugged his knees, his ear still pressed to the wood. If he had been at home, he would have curled his tail the other way and draped his fins over his head. He felt exposed and small and decidedly _wrong._

An angry sound clawed its way out of his throat. He banged his fist against the side of the ship. The sea immediately muffled the thump. No echoes bounced back to him, not through the unnatural barrier the ship caused. Bilbo hated it.

The ship heaved suddenly and sent him sprawling over the floor. His left leg was tangled with the right, and he felt even more tears roll down his cheeks. Just as he got the two horrid appendages sorted out, someone pounded on his door and shouted his name.

“You’re needed on deck, Navigator!”

Sniffling, Bilbo scrubbed at his face with one sleeve and clambered to his feet.

“What for?” he croaked. The door opened to revealing the crewman that had so readily dismissed Bilbo’s worries at the helm earlier.

“Captain’s orders.” At least he had the decency to look slightly contrite, if not fully apologetic.

Bilbo managed to rasp out, “Right, lead the way.” The ship heaved again, tipping the merman into the doorframe. He hissed and slapped away the land-walker’s steadying hand. “Lead the way,” he repeated.

“You’ll need your wet gear,” the land-walker replied.

“My what-” Bilbo looked closely at the man’s clothes. His jacket was heavier than Bilbo’s own and looked slick. “Oh. Um. Not really sure if I, um… just a moment?” He turned and dug through his borrowed clothes until he found something similar to what the land-walker was wearing. He tugged on the coat and rolled his shoulders to settle it over his other, lighter jacket.

The helmsman led him down the corridor. Bilbo pulled back the overlong sleeves of his newfound coat and brushed his fingers over the fabric. It was think and weighty, and the outer shell felt slick and decidedly un-fabric-like. As they approached the stairs to the upper deck, the helmsman began closing up the front of his own heavy coat, button and fastening and tying until he was covered from neck to knees. Bilbo hastened to do the same. His fingers fumbled over the buttons. Under his breath, he cursed at his hands until he managed to get the damned coat closed up all the way. His skin began to get an overwarm and sticky feeling. Almost instantly, he hated the coat.

“What the devil do I need this for?” he growled and flapped a sleeve at the helmsman. The land-walker glanced at him curiously over his shoulder just as he shouldered open the door to the main deck.

A wall of white fog rolled in through the doorway and wafted down the steps to pool around Bilbo’s feet. It continued to move around him and the land-walker, rising nearly to their waists as it drifted down the corridor.

Bilbo nodded once. “Oh.”

They stepped out onto the deck. The fog was frighteningly thick. Bilbo looked down and found he couldn’t see his own legs through the white. He smirked. What a convenient height for a homesick merman.

“Navigator!” the call interrupted his musings. He looked up, spied the captain standing on the quarterdeck just in front of the helm, and scurried up to join him. The fog parted for him and quickly drifted back to fill in his path.

Thorin was wearing a weatherproof coat as well, though his was a pleasant dark blue instead of the dull brown of Bilbo’s. The merman couldn’t see lower than the captain’s thighs, but he noticed the bulging outline of a sword and a pistol at one hip.

“Captain,” he greeted. Thorin nodded in response and turned up the collar of his coat.

“What do you make of this?” Thorin asked and nodded at the fog around them. Bilbo folded his arms across his chest. The air was heavy with water and felt absolutely backwards inside his lungs. He turned up the collar of his own coat and breathed through the fabric as he looked around.

The fog was horribly thick, limiting his line of sight to several yards. He could barely see the _Orcrist_ ’s bow. The sails were slack; no wind, not even a breeze, disturbed them, and the ship was still in the water. Waves lapped quietly at the sides of the ship. No one spoke.

To the left of the ship, Bilbo thought he could make out the hulking shape of one of the mountains. Another smaller peak was jutting out of the water on their immediate right. Bilbo could have leaned over the railing and touched it if he wanted.

“Well?” the captain demanded.

Bilbo glanced at the land-walker through narrowed eyes before looking forward again. “Well… you can’t sail in this, obviously.”

“Obviously,” echoed Thorin through gritted teeth. “But if we could move forward, would you be able to guide us through the pass?”

Turning fully, Bilbo looked skeptically at Thorin. “Er. If the fog weren’t so thick – perhaps? It’s really not the fog so much as the Luin that gives me pause. I can barely see the mountains on our left – uh, portside, much less guide the entirety of the _Orcrist_ through this maze.”

Both Thorin and Dori, who was back at the helm, turned to look over the railing at their left. Dori squinted and muttered angrily. Thorin walked all the way to the railing and leaned out for a few seconds before returning to Bilbo’s side.

“I can’t see that peak _at all_ , so I do believe you are the only one that can get us out of this, Navigator.”

An ugly ball of dread settled in Bilbo’s stomach. “Can’t – at all – oh, wonderful,” he sighed, bracing himself on the railing overlooking the main deck. “How do you expect me to guide a still ship, Captain?”

Thorin’s jaw clenched and he ducked his head. The raised collar of his coat brushed along the edge of his jaw. Bilbo huddled further into his own coat. His face and hands were wet and cold from the fog, but his body was warm, and he started to hate the heavy coat a little less.

“We’ll have to tow her with a few of the boats. It will be slow, but we cannot just sit here,” the captain replied. Bilbo almost automatically opened his mouth to inform Thorin how ridiculous that idea sounded and ask _why_ they couldn’t ‘just sit here,’ but instead he swallowed harshly and decided to try a different tactic.

“That would be safer, yes, in regards to the visible rock. What about the mountains below the surface?” He held his breath, waiting for Thorin’s answer.

“Do you not have a record of the depths for this range?” the captain asked.

Bilbo inhaled slowly and shook his head once. “No one has a record of the Luin below the surface, Captain Oakenshield.”

Cursing in his own language, Thorin turned away to pace for a few moments. “So, we could run aground without warning?”

Bilbo tilted his face even further into the collar of his coat and did not reply. Thorin cursed again, louder. He continued to pace, the fog-muffled thump of his boots the only sound on the ship. Bilbo winced.

Finally, Thorin stilled and returned to the railing in front of the helm. He braced himself heavily against the railing. If Bilbo were to shift at all to his left, he would be leaning on the land-walker. He shifted in the opposite direction.

“Dwalin,” Thorin called without warning. The quartermaster appeared from behind them. “Prepare the boats.”

Bilbo’s mouth dropped open as Dwalin replied, “Aye, Captain.” The burly land-walker began shouting orders just as Bilbo turned to Thorin.

“What are you doing?” he asked. Thorin ignored him, the wood railing creaking ominously under his large hands.

“Captain, I cannot lead you – this ship, I cannot lead this ship through the Luin. Not in this fog - The _Orcrist_ will be skewered by the mountains.” He swallowed his next sentence – a suggestion that it would be easy enough to swim through the Luin – and tightened his arms across his chest.

“We cannot stay here, sails still and guns damp, in foreign waters. It is a risk I am willing to take.” He pushed away from the railing and stomped down to the main deck. The fog billowed dramatically around the bottom of his coat as he descended the steps. Bilbo followed in his wake.

“You would rather risk your ship sinking in this jagged wasteland than-”

Thorin whirled on Bilbo, the fog whipping up in a thick spiral about him. His voice was low and dark. “I would rather cast myself onto my own fucking sword than risk the lives of my nephews.” He inhaled and exhaled heavily. “I would rather turn myself over to Azog- but I do not have the luxury of _choice_ , Master Baggins. We must cross the Luin.”

“Of course you can choose!” Bilbo’s voice climbed to a shout halfway through the sentence. “We can cross tomorrow, or the next day, or _whenever_ the fog lifts! Why must everything with you be _now or never?!_ ”

Thorin’s face was expressionless. The color seemed to drain from his eyes as he stared down at Bilbo.

“There is always a choice,” the merman whispered. Thorin stepped toward him, and Bilbo automatically danced backward. Rage filled the captain’s face.

“A choice?” the land-walker said. “A _choice?”_ He continued to advance on Bilbo, slowly but surely crowding the merman across the deck. “Do you think I had a choice when raiders burned my city? Or when Azog’s pirates raped our women? When my sister pushed her sons into my arms, when she told me to take her boys and run, that she would protect the people until I could destroy the Defiler once and for all, do you _think_ _for one moment that I had a choice?_ This ship is the only thing standing between Azog and the total domination of my city, and I _choose_ ,” he spat mockingly, both hands grabbing Bilbo by the front of his coat and yanking the merman onto the tips of his toes. Never once did his eyes leave Bilbo’s. “I choose to cross Ered Luin tonight. You will guide this ship, or I will kill you with my bare hands.”

Thorin released Bilbo with a harsh shove. The merman landed hard on the deck, his hands catching on the wood and scraping painfully. Distantly, he heard a few astonished gasps from the crew. His pulse roared in his ears, his lungs heaved, and hills gills made a valiant effort to take over in the damp air. Every fiber of his being chanted _‘get away get away swim away flee flee hide,’_ and he rolled, wheezing, to his knees before staggering upright.

Abruptly, something inside him clicked. His entire body stilled, and flight slowly inched in the direction of _fight._ A far away part of him recognized the déjà vu of the feeling – memories of sharks with dead gazes flashed through his subconscious. His lips curled back into the beginnings of a snarl. No more, he decided. He was finished. Damn them all, every last one of these foul, land-bound creatures. He would pull Thorin over the rail and show him what it meant to fight the sea.

Bilbo shifted his weight left, ready to turn and latch onto the captain. The window of opportunity would be small. Just as he spun – muscles tense, teeth bared – someone grabbed him and hauled him backwards. A face appeared in front of his and he automatically jerked forward to sink his teeth –

“Bilbo!” Bofur’s face, normally so cheerful, was grey with anxiety.

“It’s not worth it, Navigator,” Nori hissed from behind him. The Thief had twisted Bilbo’s arm behind his back and was pulling him backward toward the bow of the ship – away from Thorin. The fog quickly rolled in to obscure the captain’s tall figure. “Come on, forget whatever you’re planning on – just forget it. You’ll be dead before you hit the water.”

Bofur grabbed the merman’s other arm, and together he and Nori turned Bilbo away and led him to the far end of the ship. An angry whine came from Bilbo’s throat – it was a gill-sound, an underwater noise, and it scraped painfully over his dry gills. He choked, and abruptly all the fight left him.

“Get me out of here,” he rasped, sagging in the two land-walkers’ arms. “Get me off this ship.” He stumbled, one knee hitting the wood. Nori carefully eased him the rest of the way down.

“And go where?” Nori asked. Bilbo did not reply.

Bofur knelt beside him and carefully – very carefully – laid a hand on his knee. “Bilbo… You should at least-” he stopped, shook his head, and tried again. “The captain has his reasons, Bilbo. He would not lead us needlessly into peril.”

Once again, Bilbo did not reply. Bofur sighed, removed his hand, and sat back.

They sat with him until Balin waded through the fog some time later.

“The boats are ready to launch,” the old man said quietly. Bilbo continued to stare out in the fog.

“Come on, Navigator,” Nori murmured, grabbing him by his shoulders and hauling him bodily to his feet. Bilbo wobbled, and his legs tried to move in tandem in a long, rolling motion reminiscent of treading water with his tail. The movement was wrong, of course, and he fell over into Bofur.

The land-walker steadied him, saying, “Here we go.” Together, he and Nori walked him back to the center of the ship where the small rowboats were waiting suspended over each side of the ship. They deposited him in the first and Bofur climbed in behind him, followed by a handful of land-walkers Bilbo did not know.

Thorin was in his usual spot on the quarterdeck, glaring down at all of them from in front of the helm. Bilbo stared back, unblinking, until the boat was lowered into the water and his line of sight broken. He felt hollow.

The land-walkers took up the oars and rowed out in front of the ship. A long, thick rope was tied to the rear of the small boat, connecting them to the bow of the ship, and it rose slowly out of the water the further away they rowed. Several other boats were connected in the same way, and together, they began to tow the _Orcrist_ through the fog.

Bilbo turned, facing the front, and shrank as far down into his coat as possible. No one spoke. The ocean was so close, _so close_ , and he felt tears leak out of his eyes. _What was he waiting for?_ he asked himself suddenly. _An invitation?_ His hands found each other and he was tugging the ring over the first knuckle when Bofur nudged him in the back.

He jammed the ring back down to the base of his finger and turned to glare at the land-walker. Bofur grinned shamelessly.

“This is my cousin, Bifur,” he said, and jerked his thumb at the man next to him. The man grunted at Bofur before nodding once at Bilbo.

“Charmed,” snapped Bilbo, more at Bofur than at his oh-so-eloquent cousin.

“So, which direction are we headed?” Bofur asked. The other land-walkers’ attention turned instantly to Bilbo. The merman turned and peered into the fog. A perfectly sized shard of mountain sprouted from the waves some distance in front of them.

“Hm, hopefully right into that peak there,” he mused. “You lot should have enough supplies to get yourselves close to Bree if you’re careful.”

Bofur laughed aloud. The others murmured nervously amongst themselves.

“Oh, harsh, Navigator. And where will you be?”

“Leagues away before you find your way out of this maze, hopefully.”

“Ah, of course. How will you manage that?”

“I’m a fast swimmer,” Bilbo deadpanned, and leaned over to drag his fingers through the water. His gills fluttered at the feeling.

“Mm. The boys – Fíli and Kíli – would miss you terribly, I suspect. Ori, too.”

Something akin to guilt settled in Bilbo’s stomach. He did not respond.

Quietly, Bifur snorted and whispered something to his cousin, who burst out laughing again. “So, we should ease to the right, then?”

With a sigh, Bilbo nodded.

“Starboard four points!” the land-walker yelled. The call was picked up by the other boats and carried all the way back to the ship.

And so it went. For hours on end, Bilbo led them through the unending fog of the Luin, murmuring out directions to Bofur and letting the sound of the ocean wash through him.

The fog showed no signs of dissipating. Bilbo peered up, searching for the sun and failing to find even a glimmer of natural light. The high walls of the pass loomed over them on either side. He shuddered. Days like this were best spent curled in a cave asleep. His musings were interrupted by a sudden cold splash of water on his forehead.

“Ugh.” He wiped at the water and buried his nose into the collar of his coat. A slight breeze ruffled his hair. Another raindrop splattered onto his sleeve, and then another, and another. The fog disappeared, only to be replaced by the sudden torrential downpour.

Bilbo hissed his displeasure at the sky. If anything, it was now _more_ difficult to tell where they were going. The wind began to pick up, and thunder rumbled quietly in the distance.

A voice from the ship called out, but Bilbo couldn’t make out the words through the pounding of the rain. A wave rocked their little boat, slopping water over the merman’s legs.

“Time to rejoin our lady love!” Bofur called out. The land-walkers turned the boat and began rowing back to the _Orcrist._ The used the ropes as a guide when the waves grew too large to navigate with the oars. Bilbo swayed freely with the rocking boat, half-hoping he would be knocked overboard.

But no, that was not his fate today. Helpful hands pulled him back up the side of the ship and onto the deck. He looked up and watched vacantly as crewmen worked in the rigging to lower the sails. The wind quickly caught in the fabric, sending the sails out taut with a wet _whump_. The _Orcrist_ lurched forward with the wind and rocked as a wave crashed against her side.

“To the bow, Navigator. Your job isn’t over,” someone growled at him, and he turned with a jerk to find Dwalin hovering over his shoulder. He bared his teeth in a caricature of a grin and stalked away, following Bofur up the deck. The rain was relentless. It trickled down the back of his neck no matter how tightly he clutched his coat, and his gills fluttered in confusion when the water touched them. He coughed wetly.

Thunder boomed overhead. The hairs on the back of Bilbo’s neck rose at the sound, and he ducked closer to Bofur as they reached the bow. The _Orcrist_ heaved as a wave struck the ship’s side. Bilbo collided with the railing; Bofur latched onto the back of his coat, cursing.

“Careful, man! You’ll be over the side if you don’t hold on!” he called over the rain.

“That’s the idea!” Bilbo yelled back. Bofur cursed again in response and clung tighter to the merman.

“I can’t see anything!” Bilbo told him. “We’ll run aground if we keep going!”

Bofur shook his head and pointed at the sails. “We have to move – the storm’ll toss us to pieces if we don’t! Just do what you can!”

A massive wave crashed into the side of the ship, throwing water in an arc over the deck. Bilbo was soaked through instantly, despite the heavy coat. “There!” he shouted, pointing. “To the right!”

Bofur turned, cupped his hands around his mouth, and bellowed, “Off the starboard bow!”

The ship fought its way to the left, the bow cutting through the waves. Lightning streaked through the clouds just ahead of them; the resulting thunder shook the wood beneath Bilbo’s feet. Wind whipped the rain into a stinging frenzy. The _Orcrist_ leapt forward on the crest of one wave and slammed into the trough of the next. Bilbo was thrown frontward, and then backward, Bofur clinging to him all the while.

“Here!” the land-walker shouted, looping a length of rope around Bilbo’s middle and knotting it. Water swept around their ankles, filling their boots and threatening to topple them. Bilbo coughed violently as rain trickled through his gills.

He yelled hoarsely, “Left – there’s something on our left-”

Bofur passed along the warning. Lightning flashed, and the next shattering boom of thunder split the air. Bilbo could hardly breathe through the water; his body was so confused – water touched his gills, but it wasn’t enough – and his lungs kept refusing to work. Frantically, he clasped both sides of his neck, forced his gills closed, and heaved in a great lungful of air.

They were fully in the pass now; he could see nothing but mountain on either side of the ship. He turned to Bofur and yelled, “Straight – we just need to keep going straight!” He prayed there weren’t any peaks lying in wait below the surface in front of them.

The next crash of thunder echoed strangely in the pass, almost like a roar, and Bilbo felt his heart falter briefly. That sound had been too lifelike, too organic, to be thunder.

He saw it then – a great chain of lightening lit up the world for a fraction of a second, and he saw it. A mass of slick, black skin arced out of the nearest wave and crashed into the next. Lightening flashed again, revealing the horrific length of the serpent as it leapt from wave to wave. It reared up into the rain and screamed with the thunder.

A second howling roar split the air, chased by another crash of thunder. Bilbo peered into the dark and spotted a second serpent rising from the roiling waves. It latched onto the first, the needle-like teeth sinking into flesh. Lightening forked overhead, and one of the crew screamed when he saw the serpents.

“Sea monsters!”

The cry echoed over the deck at another flash of lightening. The serpents were tangled together, biting and strangling each other amongst the waves. A single bolt of lightning shot down from the clouds and struck the two serpents. Immediately, the creatures released each other and opened their mouths to drink down the white fire. When the sky went dark again, they resumed fighting.

Bofur, his hand still fisted in the back of Bilbo’s jacket, yelled, “Well, bless me, the legends are true! Serpents! Storm serpents!”

The pair of dueling creatures crashed into the water before resurfacing closer to the _Orcrist_.

“HARD TO PORT! HARD TO PORT!” Thorin’s voice boomed out from the helm. The ship listed sharply to the left. Bilbo slipped on the rain-soaked deck. Just as he hit the wood, the massive shape of one peak of the Luin scraped against the starboard hull. Bofur let out an outraged yell. Stones rained down on the deck, and Bilbo rolled to avoid being crushed. He spotted Dori and Thorin both hauling hard at the helm as a flash of lightning illuminated the sky for a scant moment.

Bilbo struggled to regain his footing. He managed to get to his knees, one arm wrapped around the railing. Lightning forked down again. One of the monsters screamed and leapt toward the bolt. It caught the last bit of static, its eyes glowing preternaturally white through the rain.

The ship tilted again, and Bilbo’s legs slipped through the gaps in the railing. Bofur pulled him back through and onto his feet just as the impact from the ship striking stone threw them to the deck once more. A wave swamped them; Bilbo’s gills opened automatically, and he savored the feel of seawater for a scant second before Bofur hauled him further up the deck.

“Move!” the land-walker shouted as he cut the rope loose from around Bilbo’s middle. “Up to the quarterdeck! Go!” He pushed the merman in front of him, and together they stumbled aft. Just as they stepped onto the main deck, someone near them screamed; Bilbo had a moment’s view of a land-walker pointing at something in the water before one of the serpents crashed through the rigging. The screaming crewman was devoured in a flash of teeth and blood. Bilbo gagged and threw up seawater. Air whistled wetly down his throat as he struggled to breathe.

The serpent writhed in a tangle of sail and rope. Its body stretched across the middle of the main deck, and it curled back on itself in order to snap at any crewmen unlucky enough to be within reach. A few land-walkers jumped forward to attack the beast, but the attempt only succeeded in angering it. The thickly scaled skin turned aside sword and axe alike.

Howling, the serpent lashed out and grabbed one of the attacking land-walkers in its mouth. The man’s screams ended with a wet crunch. Bilbo looked on, horrified, as the serpent tilted its head back and swallowed the broken form whole. Its neck bulged out briefly in the shape of the land-walker as it gulped him down.

“The eyes!” Bilbo found himself shouting. “Go for its eyes!”

Someone must have heard him, because soon the muffled report of rifles cut through the storm. The serpent’s howls became shrieks of pain as the bullets peppered its face. Bilbo could see a cluster of land-walkers high on the quarterdeck, each with a rifle in their hands. The beast turned toward them in a rage, and they fired as one. Instantly, the storm serpent reared back, blood streaming from its face and the light from its white eyes darkened. It writhed and twisted, trying and failing to escape the confines of the tangled rigging. Its struggles rocked the ship violently from side to side. One of the ropes tethering the beast to the mainmast snapped, and the mast groaned and cracked. The serpent lurched forward across the deck, aiming for the sea. It pulled, the ship leaning with it until the deck was nearly perpendicular to the ocean.

Bilbo and Bofur were clinging to the ship desperately. Water washed over them and Bilbo struggled to breathe. He dimly heard Thorin yelling “CUT IT LOOSE! CUT IT LOOSE!” from the helm. More ropes snapped. Wood groaned. Men yelled as they set to dislodging the beast from their ship. With a crash, the _Orcrist_ rolled back upright.

A wave rose to their left, and out of it leapt the second monster. With a triumphant roar, it sank its teeth into the unsuspecting first serpent. The blinded beast howled, gave up its struggles with the ship, and turned back on the other serpent. It curled around on the deck, looping itself around the mainmast as it reached for its assailant. Slick black blood rained down on the deck to mix with the rain and waves.

The second serpent pulled at the one on the ship, its teeth tearing the flesh to ribbons. Hot blood splattered Bilbo, and he gagged again. Men were shooting at the other beast, now. The gunfire only enraged it, and it released the rapidly weakening blind monster in order to roar at the gunmen. Bilbo lost sight of the beast when a wave crashed over it, but it soon resurfaced to lunge at the ship.

A single bolt of lightning streaked out of the clouds to strike a shard of the Luin next to the ship. Rock exploded off the peak, and the serpent whipped around, interested now in only the fading static on the stone. The second monster lifted its head weakly and moaned in the direction of the lightning strike. More bolts forked down, and the uninjured storm serpent leapt toward them, bloody mouth gaping.

The _Orcrist_ continued to lurch forward over the waves. Bilbo turned to watch the serpent chase the lightning further back into the pass. The ship meant nothing to it in the face of fresh lightning, nor did its wounded opponent. The waves seemed to lessen some, as did the furious wind. A low, gurgling moan brought his attention back to the blind, wounded creature wound around the mainmast. The middle of the ship was a ruin. Sail and line lay in a shredded tangle, and the mast was creaking and leaning precariously to one side. Men were scattered in various positions around the serpent. Bilbo could not tell if they were dead or just wounded. 

“Mahal above,” Bofur swore softly next to him.

“We’ve cleared the pass,” someone else noted, a note of wonder in their voice. Bilbo looked up, surprised. And so they had.  The sky was lighter now, though the rain had not let up. Behind them, the highest peaks of the Luin stretched through the clouds and out of sight. Before them…

Before them, the open ocean waited, dark and empty for as far as the eye could see.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well how about that beast of a chapter. 6000+ words. My fingers hurt lol. I actually passed 100 pages in the word doc, and, with the scenes I have already written for future chapters, the total word count just crossed 40K! I'm super excited :))) Thanks again to every single one of you! I love you all, and if you ever want to come hang out on tumblr, the url is durinsheir
> 
> I'm always open to plot ideas, etc <3
> 
> -duri


	13. Instinct and the Problems It Causes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A veritable tsunami of emotions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings, friends, from my sophomore year of college. In return for waiting so patiently and being utterly wonderful, you get a whopping 8000 words to read. I hope you enjoy :)
> 
> EDIT: I haven't had a chance to go back through and fix any grammar errors, so if you see anything obnoxious, hit me up.

They limped forward on two masts and a third of their sails, dragging a dying sea monster behind them. The air was thick with moisture even after the rain had let up.

A loud crack echoed over the water, followed by someone shouting, “Damn you to hell, you beast!”

Bilbo smirked and tucked his chin into the collar of the dry jacket he had found to replace his storm-sodden clothes. The land-walkers continued to try and hack the storm serpent in half; the dying creature was too heavy to lift and unwind from around the damaged mainmast, so the best course of action seemed to be to cut it apart. Its sleek, iron hard scales hindered any and all efforts the land-walkers had made so far.

As the count currently stood, Dwalin had broken two axes, three swords, and a host of other cutting implements. He was a very loud curser.

Those not helping with that futile effort were scattered all over the ship, sawing and hammering and sewing and knot-tying. When it crashed onto the deck, the serpent had taken out meters upon meters of lines and stays, which in turn pulled down many of the sails. Its curling around the mainmast had cracked the wooden pillar, and the mast now threatened to topple every time the serpent shifted.

Bilbo was currently as far out on the bowsprit as he could get, thighs clamped tight around the wood and hands curled around the taut bowlines; the safety netting had been torn away in the storm. He couldn’t go near the serpent, not without hearing it moan and smelling the blood and ichor oozing from its shredded tail. It was a dangerous creature, yes, and it probably would have pulled the ship under without a thought, but it was of the sea, and for that alone Bilbo would not watch it suffer.

He also would not set foot on a deck occupied by Thorin Oakenshield. Not now. Fear soured his anger. The merman longed to pull the captain down to the darker depths and – no, no, not while his legs still hindered him. His revenge would have to wait. Eventually, the time would come, and Bilbo could wrap his tail around Thorin’s neck and _pull_.

A gull darted by him and screamed at its fellows; a handful of the ragged birds fought over space on the serpent’s wound. Schools of fish churned the water around the ship, drawn in by the blood. Sharks would follow before long. Bilbo hugged the bowsprit tighter.

Someone on the deck called his name. He ignored them, inching even further away from the deck.

“Mister Bilbo?”

Dammit. It was Ori.

“Mister Boggins!”

And Kíli, which probably meant –

“It’s _Baggins_ ,” scolded Fíli.

Bilbo sighed and closed his eyes briefly. The three boys presented a rather large complication in his plan to leave the _Orcrist._ He was quite fond of them, and they of him. They were also basically children, and he struggled with the moral implications of abandoning a ship carrying children in the middle of Beleriand. Not to mention the issue of Fíli and Kíli being Thorin’s nephews…

He cursed Gandalf and the ring, not for the first time, and cursed again for good measure.

“I’m coming out, Mister Bilbo. I brought you something to eat,” Kíli called from behind him. Bilbo glanced over his shoulder and carefully watched the boy shimmy out on the bowsprit with a small parcel in one hand.

Kíli stopped an arm’s length behind him and slowly leaned forward. Bilbo narrowed his eyes at the offered food.

“What is it?”

“Smoked fish. Bombur dragged out a barrel because of the storm. He said he knew the crew would rather have real food, not stew, after all that. You want it?”

“…smoked?” Bilbo asked hesitantly.

“Mhm,” replied Kíli. The boy inched a little closer to Bilbo. “It’s a little salty, but it’s alright.”

Bilbo accepted the parcel and unwrapped it, revealing a small, but whole, fish. It was stiff and smelled incredibly strange. Bilbo wrinkled up his nose. Carefully, he picked up the fish by the tail and passed the empty wrappings back to Kíli. The dead, shriveled eye of the fish stared up at him. Bilbo slowly took a bite out of the stiff flesh.

“What the-” he sputtered, spitting out the mouthful. “What on earth have you done to it?”

Kíli gaped at him. “It’s just smoked?”

“It’s incredibly horrid. Here, you take it. I’ll find something else later.” Bilbo shoved the fish back into Kíli’s hands. It had been full of a peculiar flavor that practically overwhelmed the natural fishiness. He shook his head and shuddered. Kíli frowned at the limp body in his hands before looking back up at Bilbo with wide eyes.

“I’m sorry, Mister Bilbo,” he said quietly.

Bilbo’s heart dropped, but before he could reach out to the boy, Kíli had turned and shimmied back down the bowsprit. Fíli ushered his brother down the deck, glancing back over his shoulder curiously at Bilbo before they disappeared under the bottom edge of the lower foresail.

With a groan, Bilbo leaned forward and thumped his head against the bowsprit. “You utter prat,” he whispered to himself. The bowsprit creaked, and he looked up to find Ori cautiously coming out toward him.

“I’m a complete wanker,” he told the young man. Ori nodded in understanding.

“I should – no, I _will_ apologize later,” he continued. Ori nodded again.

“I’ve had a terrible day, Ori.”

Ori gave him a Look, but he still didn’t say anything.

Bilbo exhaled heavily and let his shoulders drop. “I wanted to kill him,” he said finally. Ori’s eyes widened. “Were you on deck before the storm?” Ori nodded slowly. “So you saw him… well. I was going to try, at least, but Bofur and Nori grabbed me – which was probably for the best? – even if I had gotten His Royal Madness over the side, he’d probably gut me before I could get him down to the deeps.” He sighed again and rubbed at his eyes. They were wet, and he dashed away the sudden tears angrily. “I was just so, _so angry_ , he was yelling and demanding and through all that my body’s doing its damndest to breathe in the fog and I just _snapped_ , Ori.” His throat felt thick. He turned away from Ori and looked resolutely at the world in front of him. “I hate that man.”

He felt a hand land softly on his shoulder and squeeze. He choked back a sob and cleared his throat.

“I want to go home,” he whispered.

Waves crashed against the bow of the ship rhythmically. After several minutes of silence between them, Ori spoke up.

“My home was destroyed during the sack of Erebor.”

Bilbo turned suddenly, shocked. The younger man held up a staying hand.

“No,” said Ori firmly. “You sit and listen. I shouldn’t be telling you – I don’t really want to tell you – but I think I need to.”

The merman chewed the inside of his cheek for a moment before nodding. Ori took a deep breath and continued.

“I woke up because I heard the cannons. My bedroom window faced the harbor – Dori let me have the room because of the view-” he laughed bitterly, “and let me tell you, I had an excellent view of the hideous hulk of Azog’s ship spitting fire into our city. The screaming started almost immediately after the first shot. By that time, Dori was already in my room, yelling at me to get the hell away from the window and get my belongings. I managed to grab my sketchbook and two shirts before the raiders kicked in the front door. They were ugly bastards, all scarred and rotten looking.”

He paused for breath and grimaced. He was staring at a point over Bilbo’s shoulder, his gaze far away.

“Dori punched one square in the face – just stove his teeth right in and moved on to the next one. I threw a chair at the others trying to get in the door. By that time, the house was already on fire. Dori kicked out the knee of one of the raiders, turned, and grabbed me. He pushed me out the back window and together we ran straight out of the city without stopping. That was almost a year ago, but I remember it like it was yesterday.”

A shudder shook the young man’s body and the cloud of memory lifted from his eyes.

“Later, we heard from Nori – he had made it to Bree, but it was weeks before we got any real word from anyone. Balin found us in a little village in the Wilds and told us what had happened. Somehow, Azog’s soldiers had managed to sneak into the city and onto some of Erebor’s largest warships. They started the first fires, and once Azog’s ship began bombarding the Mountain, they started killing the people. Half the navy was demolished in minutes, but, somehow, a few ships made it past Azog and out of the harbor.” He nodded at Bilbo. “I’m assuming you know by now that this ship was one of those few?” Bilbo nodded in return. “The others were the _Moria_ and the _Belegost_. Thorin’s father, Crown Prince Thráin, was on one ship with Thorin’s brother, and His Majesty, Thrór, was on the other. Most of the crew,” he gestured back at the _Orcrist_ , “consists of whoever could get to the ship fast enough. A few were picked up along the way, but most of them started this voyage with the smell of smoke and blood on their clothes.”

Ori went silent then, rubbing his hand idly over the bowsprit. “We have had no word from the King or the captain’s father since they escaped Erebor. It was dark, you understand, and they intended to stay together, to regroup and launch a counter attack from the Iron Hills, but in all the panic and the smoke, they were separated.” He ceased picking at a loose splinter of wood and looked up. Locking eyes with Bilbo, he stared hard at the merman. “You should also understand that I am in no way excusing Captain Oakenshield’s actions against your person, _but!_ you need to get it in your head that he is _utterly_ _alone_ on this ship. His entire family, save his sister’s sons, could be dead. He is one ship against an entire army – an army occupying his own home, using his own ships against him – and our only hope now is finding whatever it is he’s driving us so far West to find. You push and _push_ him, question his every word and undermine his authority, and honestly, Bilbo, most of us saw that little explosion coming from leagues away.”

Bilbo gaped at Ori, completely at a loss for how to respond. The young man snorted, swung his legs over the bowsprit, and began shifting down to the deck. Just as he reached the end, he hesitated. Slowly, he turned back.

“I like you a lot, you know. You don’t treat me like a child, and I appreciate that, I really do. But Thorin is my captain, and you… well, you’re just some foreigner Gandalf found out at sea.” With that, Ori turned away and jumped off the bowsprit, his boots thumping solidly on the deck. The young man walked off without another word.

Gulls screamed and the sea serpent groaned, but Bilbo heard none of it. Ori’s words echoed in his mind. _You’re just some foreigner._ Sunlight glinted off the simple golden band on his finger. A savage itch made itself known all over both of the merman’s legs, and bile rose in the back of his throat. He gulped, leaning over and grasping the bowsprit with both hands. Once the nausea faded, the merman lay more comfortably along the wood and watched the water.

Tonight, he decided abruptly. He would swim tonight.

 _Really_ swim.

 

 

Darkness descended fully before Bilbo made his move. No one came looking for him after Ori left, though he heard Bofur calling his name briefly once the lighting of the lanterns began. All was quiet now. The sea serpent had ceased its pained moans just as light faded from the sky. It wasn’t dead yet, but it wouldn’t be long. Bilbo pitied the creature now; the land-walkers’ weapons had no effect on its hide, so the only solution was to leave it to die on its own.

Carefully, he shimmied down to the deck and extinguished the lamps nearby. He waited for a moment just in case one of the crew decided to investigate, but no one appeared. With a nod, the merman stepped through the railing and slowly lowered himself into the small area below the bowsprit. He had no clue what it was called – Kíli may have mentioned it – but he didn’t care at this point.

After removing his boots, he considered the rest of his clothes. Shrugging, the merman stepped out of his trousers and tugged his shirt over his head. He took a moment to measure the speed of the water rushing below him; if he dived too far forward, he’d be washed back into the bow of the ship. And what to do about the ring once he took it off? Hm. He cast about for a moment, debating whether to just clutch it in his hand or something equally risky. Eventually he decided on ripping off the hem of his shirt and using the strip of fabric as a sort of crude necklace.

Once he had the cloth in hand, he took a deep breath. The exhale came out as a shaky laugh. _Breathing_ , he scoffed.

The merman shook his head, rolled his eyes, and dove straight over the railing.

Water welcomed him in a cool, rushing embrace. He relaxed and let the momentum of his dive carry him. When the current started to tug at his limbs, Bilbo rolled upright and pushed out every bit of air in his lungs. Greedily, his gills flared out, and he savored the incredible feeling of fresh seawater rushing over them. His head felt clearer than it had in weeks, and there was only one thing left to complete this moment.

Bilbo let a triumphant trill roll out from around his gills. The sound bloomed outward, and with a grin, Bilbo Baggins slid the ring off his finger.

It was like being punched in the stomach, he remembered later. If there had been air in his lungs, it would have been forced out instantly. He curled around himself, eyes wide and mouth gaping. Frantically, he threaded the strip of fabric from his shirt through the ring and knotted it around his neck. Spasms racked his legs, the muscles jumping and tightening. He didn’t want to watch, but he couldn’t look away.

Scales pushed their way out of his skin starting at his hips and knees. It didn’t hurt, but damn if it wasn’t a particularly _weird_ sensation. The sudden _pop!_ of his hips, however, forced a ragged yell out of Bilbo. His knees knocked together and stuck as his skin rolled and stretched, all the while being pushed aside by pale green scales. He watched the scales grow and harden, his heart pounding in his ears, until they reached what had been feet not thirty seconds ago. The toes had elongated and thinned, and the webbing of his tail was growing between the properly proportioned spines. Something else in his bones shifted and popped into (or out of?) place. Bilbo grunted, hands knotted in his hair until the pain faded to a more bearable ache.

His hip fins fanned out in the current, automatically stabilizing him in the water. Slowly and carefully, he uncurled, stretching his tail out in front of him.

He could feel his face stretching into a wide smile, and he waved his tailfins. A short whoop of joy vibrated out of him. With a powerful thrust, he twisted and shot through the water. He whooped again, chasing the sound through the water until it echoed out of reach.

With a curling flex of his fins, he somersaulted through the dark water and reveled in the perfect _fluidity_ of true movement. He hummed a high-pitched note when he finished tumbling head-over-fins and bared his teeth happily when the sound bounced back to him from off to the right.

A whole school of blue fins was swimming steadily south, most likely a migrating group. Bilbo smirked, flattened his fins to his body, and darted into the blackness below. He sank beneath the school and waited until the entire group passed before making his move. Carefully, he rose. When he was level with the school, he bunched his tail behind him and leapt forward.

The fish scattered, but they weren’t quick enough. The merman caught one in his teeth and another in his hand. He squeezed the one in his hand behind its head until the fragile spine snapped, and then let it drift beside him while he took care of the one in his mouth.

It had been so _long_ , he moaned to himself. This was proper food, not any of that stewed or smoked nonsense. Pure, clean, raw fish. He sank his teeth back into the first fish with gusto.

While he picked at his teeth with one of the ribs of the second fish, he waved away the remains with his tail. The other bones sank quickly, and the entrails drifted upward. Something would eat it – probably another fish, or a gull if the guts reached the surface.

The surface.

Now _there_ was a troublesome thought. What if he just didn’t go back? Thorin was dead-set on going West, they would hit land eventually – probably? – and there was a moderately good chance they would all survive. They didn’t _need_ Bilbo, did they?

Yavanna knows he certainly doesn’t need _them_.

He caught himself swimming west and immediately stopped. He could turn around _right now_ and swim straight home.

Home, on the quiet rolling sands of the Shire.

Home, with neighbors that avoided him.

Home, empty of life and love. There weren’t even any graves for his parents. There hadn’t been anything to bury.  

He flicked his fins and began moving west again. He trilled, found the echoes of the _Orcrist_ , and pushed himself resolutely through the water.

Bilbo caught up with the ship in no time at all, causing him to snort. Kíli, the poor lad, thought she was a _fast_ ship. With his heart full of childish glee and more than a little bit of spite, Bilbo rocketed forward through the water. He outpaced the _Orcrist_ in a flash, circled around, and flew by her a second time. Was it cheating if most of the sails were in ruins? Absolutely. Did Bilbo care? Nope.

The ship’s groaning echoed hollowly through the water, but the sound was almost comforting. Bilbo allowed her to catch up and kept pace with her.

After a few leagues, he thought morning must be near; it had been hours since he dove off the ship, and if he was going to resurface, he needed to do it soon. The thought made his chest ache. He wasn’t even sure why he was doing this.

Carefully, he swam closer to the surface and searched for land-walkers as best as he could through the barrier of air. With a particular roll of his tail, he pulled himself to the bow of the ship.

Before he surfaced, Bilbo breathed in water slowly, savoring the wash of fresh seawater over his gills. Thankfully, he was upcurrent from the serpent and its blood. He could feel the lungs in his chest being to ache with anticipation of what would come next.

He broke the surface silently and continued to swim next to the ship. Keeping as close to the hull as possible, he coughed and wheezed until he got his lungs working properly. A deep breath of air seared a path down to his lungs. He winced.

As he looked up at the ship, Bilbo realized something: he couldn’t reach the little niche from where he had dived earlier. He stretched, using the hull as a pushing off point, but the alcove was about two feet too high.

Bilbo dropped back down until the water lapped at his shoulders.

“Damn,” he cursed aloud. “Double damn.” He scratched the back of his neck and sighed irritably. He’d have to jump. He’d have to jump, with his tail still visible, because there’s no way he could reach the alcove with human legs.

He pushed away from the hull and dropped his tail below him in the water. Cautiously, he looked for any land-walkers, but saw no one.

“One,” he whispered, “two, thr-”

“Navigator?”

“Navigator, what the hell are you-”

“ _What the_ fuck?!”

Instinct roared up in his mind, and Bilbo jumped, nearly his whole tail leaving the water. He grabbed Ferris, because of course it was Ferris, by the front of his coat and _pulled_. The land-walker tumbled over the railing and into the sea with a muffled squawk. Bilbo’s pulse roared in his ears – he dodged Ferris’ flailing limbs and tugged the man through the water, taking him deeper and deeper and deeper and deeper and downdo _wndown_ –

The icy chill of the deeps shocked Bilbo back to himself. He relaxed his manic grin and tumbled to a halt, backfinning desperately. He couldn’t look at Ferris, couldn’t look to see if he had killed the land-walker or not. The surface was still visible, so he gripped the land-walker’s coat tighter and swam back up. When they left the colder water behind, Bilbo felt Ferris clawing at him, and he nearly sobbed with relief.

They broke the surface a moment later. Ferris lashed out, hacking up water and trying to both attack the merman and get away from him at the same time. As soon as Bilbo let go of him, however, Ferris sank below the waves. Bilbo waited for a scant second before the memory of the night they boarded the _Orcrist_ returned to him.

Ferris couldn’t swim.

Bilbo dropped underwater and lifted the flailing land-walker back up with his tail. Deftly avoiding Ferris’ booted feet, the merman curled around behind the land-walker and grabbed him beneath his arms. Ferris began to shout between coughs.

“ _What the – hckk – **fuck** – get the fuck off of me, you fucker-”_

Bilbo waited, gnawing at his lip. When Ferris caught his breath and realized who was holding him up, he tried to twist away again.

“ _Let go of me!_ ”

Bilbo held on tighter.

“You can’t swim, remember?” he growled. Oddly enough, this made Ferris squirm more. “Hold still, you idiot.”

“You tried t’drown me!”

“I panicked!”

“Let go of me! What the fuck are ye doin’ in the water you feckless idiot?!”

Bilbo opened his mouth and closed it with a sharp _click_. Ferris twisted to look back at him. One of his legs brushed Bilbo’s tail. He looked down and froze.

“Oh fucking, mother fucking shit wha’ the ever lovin’ fuck are you oh Mahal save me I’m in hell this is hell oh fuck-”

“Ferris.”

“You’re a bleedin’ fish-man, you had legs yesterday but now you’ve got fins oh fuck me what-”

“ _Murúch_ , actually. Ferris, shush.”

“You’ve got a fuckin’ fish for a tail and ye tried to drown me-”

“Ferris! Shut up!” Bilbo shouted, shaking the man. Ferris clammed up immediately. Bilbo could feel the land-walker’s pulse running at top speed. His eyes were wide and unblinking.

The _Orcrist_ was out of sight once again by then. Bilbo readjusted his grip on the land-walker and carefully chose his next words.

“Firstly,” he said, “I apologize for pulling you over the side. You startled me, and sheer instinct kicked in before I realized who you were. It won’t happen again-”

“Damn right it won’t.”

“ _And_ _secondly_ ,” continued Bilbo over Ferris’ words, “I’m not a ‘fish-man.’” He wrinkled his nose at the heinous thought.

“Yeah? Then you’re some sort of demon come up from hell! If I could swim, I’d have killed ye by now, Navigator.”

“I’m sure you would have tried, land-walker,” Bilbo snarked. “Keep your knives to yourself, and I won’t drag you down with my teeth in your throat. As I was saying, I’m no fish-man, or demon, or anything ridiculous like that. I’m one of Yavanna’s folk. We call ourselves murúch. I suppose that would be something like ‘merfolk’ in Westron. And you, land-walker, will not tell another living soul about what you’ve seen tonight.” He purposefully loosened his hold on Ferris, folding his tail out from under the man.

Ferris yelped and splashed about before calling out, “Alright! Alright! M’lips are sealed, damn you! Fuckin’ merman!”

Bilbo buoyed the land-walker back up. “Not a soul. If you do, I _will_ find you and I _will_ drag you overboard. There’re only so many places to hide on a ship, Ferris. Now, are you ready to get back to the _Orcrist_?”

The man gulped audibly and nodded. “Yeah, yeah, you fucker, take me back, I’ll keep your hellish secret.”

Bilbo laughed. The sky above them was growing lighter by the minute, so he leaned backward and pulled Ferris with him toward the _Orcrist_.

“I should teach you to swim while we’re out here,” he commented idly after a minute of uncomfortably trying to keep Ferris above the water and swim at the same time.

“Absolutely _not_ ,” snapped the land-walker.

The merman sighed in response and continued swimming. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You’re a fuckin’ mermaid.”

“Mer _man_.”

“Legless.”

“Land-walker!”

“You breathe fish piss.”

“I think I’ll just leave you here.”

“No! Sorry, I take that last one back!”

Then, quieter, “Fish piss and whale spunk.”

“I heard that.”

“Heard what?”

Bilbo growled in response and dipped lower in the water.

They found the _Orcrist_ sailing steadily westward away from the rising sun. The lanterns were still extinguished at the bow of the ship, so Bilbo pulled up alongside the hull. He ducked his head underwater for a moment to catch his breath and immediately gagged; the dying serpent had soured the ocean around them. He came up sputtering and coughing, and with a retch, he let his lungs take over. When he finished, he pushed Ferris closer to the ship. The land-walker reached out and latched onto the ship in a very starfish-like fashion.

“Here,” Bilbo said quietly. “I’ll drop down and boost you up.” Without waiting for a reply, he released the land-walker, sank below him, and shoved upward with all his strength. Ferris shot upward and smacked against the hull of the ship before latching onto the railing. He quickly scrambled up onto the small landing Bilbo had originally leapt from.

The land-walker didn’t reappear for a few seconds; Bilbo dropped back down low in the water, his tail curling and rolling in order to stay abreast of the ship. “Ferris?”

“You’re starkers, fish-man,” Ferris said lowly after he poked his head back over the side. He was holding Bilbo’s trousers in one fist.

“Well, I couldn’t very well change wearing those, could I?” Bilbo snapped, flicking the end of his tail up for emphasis. The move slowed him down, and _Orcrist_ cruised by him for a moment before he could catch back up. “Get out of the way.”

“What?”

“I’m coming back up! _Move!_ ” Bilbo hissed. The sun was beginning to peek over the horizon; Bilbo had maybe minutes until one of the crew came wandering toward this end of the ship. Ferris vanished again, muttering, and Bilbo dropped straight down. The blood-sour water tickled his gills, but he held the air in his lungs. The timing and angle would be tricky – he had to jump just high enough to grab the railing, but not so high that he might be seen from the deck of the ship, and he had to come out of the water at an angle that matched up with the _Orcrist_ ’s current speed.

“Right,” he said aloud, bubbles streaming from his mouth. He bunched his tail beneath him and fanned out his fins. With a grunt, he pushed off.

He had a moment to admire the perfect angle before his torso collided directly with the railing. The air was driven out of his lungs in a harsh _whoosh_ as his upper body folded over the railing. His tail whacked the hull, and he knew in his mind that it should have been painful, but he couldn’t feel anything more than a dull throb over the pain in his middle.

“Hhhnnnn,” he wheezed, mouth gaping like a stupid grouper fish as he struggled to breathe. His gills almost tried to take over when his lungs wouldn’t cooperate. Hands on his back struggled to pull the rest of his body over onto the landing below the bowsprit. A thin stream of air found its way to his lungs, and he nodded, squirming and lifting until he flipped his tail over the railing. He landed on the wood in a tangle of limbs and fins, and he laid there for a moment wondering why in the world he had so many extra limbs. Ferris shoved him to one side, and he nodded again in understanding. No extra limbs. Not his arms and legs.

“Mahal’s balls, fish-man,” Ferris hissed, snatching his hand away from where it was touching Bilbo’s tail. “Are you alright? That was a fuckin’ terrible jump.”

Bilbo wheezed again and smiled. He choked on his laughter, nodding as he coughed. “Hm,” he cleared his throat. “Ouch.”

Ferris crouched next to him on the landing. The land-walker was doing his best to avoid contact with Bilbo’s tail; he didn’t realize that the caudal fins were curled around his ankles.

“I’ll be fine,” Bilbo said with a groan. “ _Fuck_.” The land-walker curse was all he could muster at the moment. “Just give me a second.”

Ferris shifted uncomfortably. “How do you – when do your legs come back?” He noticed the flukes at his feet and swallowed a whimper.

Bilbo groped at his neck for the ring. When he had it pinched between two fingers, he pulled it away from his body and wiggled it. “Magic ring.” The land-walker’s eyes widened and he tried to scramble even further away. Bilbo chuckled, but then he sobered quickly. “You should go.”

With an enthusiastic nod, Ferris stepped over Bilbo and reached up to grab the bowsprit. “Excellent idea.” He looped both arms over the bowsprit and was about to swing his legs up when he paused. “Wait. What about your legs?”

“Ferris,” Bilbo growled low in his throat.  

“Hold on now.” The land-walker released the bowsprit. “As the keeper of your fishy secret, I should at least get to see the leg-magic, too.”

Bilbo rolled, throwing his tail out in front of him. He bared his teeth at Ferris. “Fine. But if you scream, I’m throwing you overboard. Make sure no one’s coming this way.”

And without waiting for a response, Bilbo ripped the ring free of the strip of cloth and jammed it on his finger. The metal was cold. A chill ran up the back of Bilbo’s neck, and the muscles in his thighs slowly began to twitch.

“Nothing’s happe – oh, so the scales just cover your legs? Nope – no, oh shit that’s gross – holy _hells_ , Navigator!” Ferris scrambled backward and reached for the bowsprit again when the bones below Bilbo’s hips started to shift. Bilbo grit his teeth and tried not to make a sound when the split appeared between his knees. Ferris made an aborted gagging noise and pulled himself over the bowsprit. His eyes were wide in the low morning light.

Bilbo rolled, digging his fingernails into the wood to keep from carving little half-moons into his palms. His scales lay around him, and his fins shriveled away, revealing two slightly misshapen legs. The bones and muscles quickly moved into the right places, sending little smothered whimpers out of Bilbo’s mouth. When it was over, he took a deep, shuddering breath and drew his legs close to his chest.

The change had been faster than the first time, and marginally less painful, thankfully. The deep ache in his muscles was already starting to dissipate.

“What the _fuck_ ,” Ferris said quietly when it was all over. Bilbo grunted in response. “Actually, no,” continued the land-walker. “ _Why_ the fuck. Why are you doing this to yourself?”

Bilbo uncurled from his fetal position below Ferris and peered up at the man. “I ask myself the same questions everyday, land-walker,” he rasped. “Now, where are my pants?”

“You’re fuckin’ crazy, fish-man. But they’re over there under – um, under that pile of scales.”

“Thank you.”

Ferris remained on the bowsprit above him while he dressed. He hauled Bilbo up to the foredeck, but just before Bilbo started to stagger away on his fresh legs, Ferris grabbed his elbow.

“That’s why the wizard brought you, ain’t it?” he asked lowly, glancing down at Bilbo’s legs. “Because you’re… because of what you are?”

Bilbo looked down pointedly at where Ferris was holding him back. The land-walker quickly released him and held up both hands in front of him in a placating motion. “It was just a question.”

Sighing, Bilbo rubbed at the sore muscles at the top of his thighs. “Gandalf thinks I will be able to ‘help’ find whatever the hell it is we’re supposed to be looking for.”

“Because-”

“ _Yes,_ because I’m one of the merfolk. Now, shush. And remember your promise.” Bilbo tilted his head toward the railing of the ship and the open ocean beyond.

Ferris swallowed and nodded once. “Yeah, Mahal, yeah. I won’t tell.”

Bilbo stepped away and started toward the quarterdeck. He was suddenly exhausted; his whole body felt slow and heavy, and he could feel the bruise from his collision with the railing starting to form. As he skirted the bulk of the storm serpent, the deck beneath his feet vibrated. He paused, glancing at where the serpent’s head was resting heavily in between the ruins of two cannons. Several gulls were pecking at the scaled body. One strutted down the serpent’s neck until it reached the sightless eyes. It squawked loudly and jabbed its beak into the bloody socket. The deck vibrated again. Bilbo could feel the sound in the base of his brain, and his exhaustion was abruptly replaced with fury.

He snatched a splinter of wood up off the deck and threw it as hard as he could at the gull, shouting a curse in his own language. The gull screamed and took off. Its fellows followed, and Bilbo stood where he was, chest heaving. The air ravaged the back of his throat.

“Ferris,” he called. “Give me your sword.”

The land-walker appeared at his elbow. He had one hand over his nose to block out the horrific smell. “What?”

“Your sword. Give it to me.” Bilbo held out his hand without looking at the man. “ _Now._ ”

Ferris grumbled something under his breath, but he drew his sword anyway and passed it to Bilbo. The weapon was long, almost too long for Bilbo to wield properly, but light. The blade was thinner than the rusty things Old Took used to keep.

“This is not the same sort of sword that the others carry,” he stated, lifting the point to eye level. His arm began to tremble; the weapon may be ‘light,’ but it was still made of steel.

“No, it’s not,” Ferris grunted. “It’s a rapier, not some ham-handed cutlass. And you’re holding it wrong – hells no, not like that either, just let me.” The land-walker reached over and corrected Bilbo’s grip. Half of the hilt was caged in with a basket-like swirl of bright steel, and Bilbo tilted the weapon to the side to admire the artistry.

“It’s almost too beautiful to be an instrument of death,” he told Ferris. He could practically feel the pride rolling of the land-walker.

“Thank you, erm, I think.” The land-walker started to reach for his sword. Bilbo stepped to one side and slapped the flat of the blade against Ferris’ upper body. He yelped and jumped back. “Watch what you’re doin’, yeah? Mahal’s scraggly beard, Navigator – wait, whoa, no no no, what are you doing?” He trailed after Bilbo as the merman strode up the deck toward the serpent’s head. “You’ll break her, my pride and joy, my beautiful sword! You saw how many axes Dwalin broke on those scales! _Axes_ , Navigator. Not thin rapiers. _Please_ don’t break her.” The litany continued as Bilbo stopped a few feet away from the monstrous head. He let his eyes rove over the ruined visage, and was about three inches away from laying a hand against the creature’s jaw when a deep voice bellowed his name.

“What the hell’re you doing?”

“Speak of the devil,” Bilbo sighed, more to himself than Ferris. Dwalin stomped across the deck toward them; he appeared to have come from the captain’s cabin. The door was still open, and Bilbo caught a glimpse of a familiar silhouette. “Solving a problem, Quartermaster,” he snapped. Without waiting for a reply, he put his palm against the serpent’s head. The sound he made next wasn’t meant for the surface world, but he hoped it translated well enough. A gurgling rumble spilled out of the serpent’s mouth.

“ _Bí ar son na síochána,_ ” he said quietly, and thrust the point of the rapier through the serpent’s eye socket as hard as he could.

Many things happened at once.

Ferris screeched.

The rapier sank into the serpent’s brain nearly up to the hilt.

Dwalin let out a wordless shout of surprise.

The serpent’s entire body shuddered once then went still.

Bilbo’s ears started ringing, quickly drowning out all other sound. Ignoring Ferris’ protests, he mechanically withdrew the blade from the storm serpent’s eye and wiped off the ichor on the ruined sail nearby. He turned back to the land-walkers and presented the moderately clean sword to its owner. Dwalin was saying something to Bilbo, probably a threat, but Bilbo couldn’t hear him. Ferris snatched the rapier out of his hand.

He felt more than saw Dwalin reaching for him as he turned away. Without a sound, he twisted and ducked out of reach. The ringing in his ears crescendoed to a roar when he spotted the captain stepping out onto the deck.

Bilbo stopped and stared at Thorin. Thorin stared back at him before glancing away to examine the scene on his quarterdeck. Bilbo watched surprise flit across the captain’s face.

“You killed it,” Thorin said to him. Almost immediately, the roaring in Bilbo’s ears dialed back down to a low ringing. He swayed a bit before propping himself up on the serpent’s body. Breathing hurt a little bit more than it usually did.

“I did,” he replied. His voice sounded hollow. It took entirely too much effort to push himself away from the serpent’s flank, but he managed it without collapsing. He just wanted to sleep. Without another word, Bilbo lurched past the captain and through the door leading belowdecks. He just wanted to sleep.

 

 

He woke up with his face mashed into what the land-walkers called a pillow but was really a limp wad of fabric. He had no idea what time it was, not down here in the muffled depths of the _Orcrist_. He did know, however, what had woken him up.

Snoring

Very familiar, teeth-grindingly loud, _snoring_.

“Unbelievable!” Bilbo called out as he shot upright. Gandalf merely rolled over and grumbled before the snoring resumed. Bilbo ground his teeth and tumbled out of his hammock. He snatched up one of his boots and chucked it at the wizard.

“How _dare_ you!” he shouted while Gandalf flailed into the wakefulness. The wizard looked around the room blearily before focusing on the merman standing over him. His face broke into a wide grin.

“Bilbo, my dear boy!” He flung away his blanket, stood, and attempted to wrap Bilbo up in a huge hug.

“Oh, _no_ ,” snapped Bilbo, dodging the wizard’s long arms. “No! We are not doing this! You _left_! You don’t just get to show up and think everything’s – that everything is just – you can’t do that – you left, Gandalf, where were you?” He didn’t say, _you left me_ _and I almost died._

Gandalf’s arms dropped back to his sides and his smile turned into a cross between pity and apologetic. “Bilbo,” he sighed.

“Don’t you dare apologize. It’s going to take so much more than ‘I’m sorry,’ wizard.”

“Bilbo, what in the world has happened to you?”

The merman gaped. He could feel something bubbling up in the back of his throat – laughter? Yes, laughter. It spilled out, loud and sharp in the tiny cabin, and tears sprang to his eyes. By the time he caught his breath, the tears were pouring down his cheeks. He clapped his hands over his face and wheezed, “ _Happened?!_ Gandalf, I don’t even know where to start!”

Gandalf was crouched in front of him peering up at his face when he peeked between his fingers.

“I killed a storm-serpent! I took off the ring! I choked on fog and rain and almost tried to kill Thorin! Thorin almost killed me! Gandalf, Gandalf, oh Gandalf, maybe you should ask what _hasn’t_ happened to me!” He could feel the hysterical laughter tugging at him again, and he bared his teeth. “And you were off doing Yavanna knows what! Incredible!”

Gandalf opened his mouth to say something – Bilbo didn’t care what. “Nope,” he told the wizard. “We’re not doing this.” And with that, Bilbo snatched up his boots from the floor and barged out of the cabin. He ignored Gandalf calling after him and stormed up to the quarterdeck.

The sun was blinding, but he continued forward without stopping. Or, he continued forward about three paces before crashing headlong into a very firm body. Bilbo went down in a graceless sprawl. The impact knocked the breath out of him, and he lay there wheezing. If he could have spared the air to do so, he would have laughed at the déjà vu of it all. Finally, his lungs decided to cooperate, and he opened his eyes to snap at whoever had been in his way.

The words died on his lips.

Of course. _Of course_.

Thorin glared pure murder down at Bilbo. “You,” he spat.

Bilbo’s next words skipped his brain and went straight to his lips. “Of course.”

He was going to die. Right here. On this deck. Thorin heaved in a breath and was reaching for something at his waist – pistol, probably, thought Bilbo hysterically, because wouldn’t that be poetic justice? – when Gandalf burst onto the quarterdeck.

“Bilbo!”

Thorin’s gaze snapped up to the wizard. Bilbo had the pleasure of seeing a look of complete and utter confusion on the captain’s face before the rage from earlier returned. “ _You_ ,” the captain said again.

Gandalf nodded dismissively at the land-walker before turning back to Bilbo. The merman was jamming his feet into his boots and pointedly _not_ looking at anyone.

“Bilbo, if I could have a moment of your time?”

Bilbo ignored him.

Thorin stalked forward. “Where in Mahal’s name have you been, wizard?”

“I’ve been away, Thorin. Now, Bilbo-”

“ _Away?!_ ” Bilbo and Thorin shouted at the same time. Thorin turned back to glare at Bilbo, and the merman returned the look.

“You are on my ship, wizard, and you _will_ give me a straight answer! Where have you been?”

Bilbo jumped in before Gandalf could answer, “Yavanna save you, Gandalf, if you say ‘on wizard business.’ Because if you do, I will drag you over that railing without a thought.”

The captain cast a slightly incredulous look over his shoulder before going back to the wizard. “Well, wizard?” he demands.

Gandalf drew himself up to his full height and frowned imperiously at them. Bilbo bared his teeth and hissed. Thorin reached for his sword again. A crowd has begun to gather, the crew whispering amongst themselves. Scowling, the wizard leveled a finger at Thorin.

“I have been searching for a way to aid your cause, Thorin Oakenshield!”

Bilbo moved to Thorin’s side. “Oh, yes?” he asked, interrupting whatever the captain had been about to say. His eyeteeth poked over his bottom lip when he grinned. “And what did you find?” He could see the beginnings of flustered frustration building around Gandalf. It was delightful. It was too much. It was horrifying. It was either Bilbo let himself grin or collapse into tears. He kept grinning.

The wizard grumbled some more.

“Come on, Gandalf, you’ve been gone so long,” Bilbo wheedled in a singsong voice. He could feel the beginnings of a lure-song in his gills. It made him light-headed and weirdly unafraid. “What did you find?” The honeyed vibrations bounced past his vocal cords and blended with the words. Gandalf’s gaze snapped to his and darkened.

“Bilbo,” the wizard warned.

The merman hummed a few notes before repeating his question. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted some of the crew swaying where they stood. A few of them lurched toward him. Bilbo rocked back on his heels and cocked his head to one side, waiting. Gandalf merely stared at him, shaking his head.

He started forward, ready to shake an answer out of the wizard if necessary, but someone grabbed a handful of his shirt and yanked him back.

“Wizard,” said Thorin lowly. He released Bilbo and stalked forward, stopping when he was directly in between Gandalf and the merman. Bilbo’s line of sight was broken, and he shuddered as the lure-song faded away. He shuddered again when he realized what he had almost done – out in the open, letting himself go like that, what was he thinking?

“Enough!” Gandalf barked. Something distinctly _other_ crackled through the air. Bilbo peered around Thorin, but kept the big land-walker between him and the wizard. “Enough. I left, but now I have returned. My journey was not fruitful, but nor was it without peril. My goal was to give further speed to your quest, Thorin, but I was unsuccessful. It seems that, in my absence, several things have happened that have had a negative effect on this ship. I will not apologize, but I will do my best to repair the damage.” Gandalf looked at Bilbo meaningfully.

“We will further discuss your travels another time, wizard,” Thorin said after a moment of tense silence. “For now… _get off my quarterdeck_.”

Bilbo was sure that Gandalf would refuse. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to be part of that fight or not. Probably not, unless they ended up in the water. But, to his surprise (and relief), the wizard nodded once and retreated belowdecks without another word.

A collective sigh left the crowd of crewmen around Thorin and Bilbo, punctuated by a few awkward laughs. Bilbo glanced at Thorin a few times before taking a step back. Then another. Then-

“Well done,” Balin said, clapping a hand on Bilbo’s shoulder and halting his escape. The merman wasn’t sure if he was being sarcastic or not.

“Absolutely spectacular, you two.” Definitely sarcastic.

“He’s been gone for far too long, Balin, and you know it,” Thorin rumbled. He turned, his whole body jerking in surprise when he saw Bilbo still standing there. “You.”

Bilbo valiantly suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. “Me.”

“What were you doing?” Thorin demanded. Bilbo automatically took a step backward. “He’s a wizard! Taunting him is dangerous.”

“So is ordering him around,” retorted Bilbo.

Balin stepped in between them and commented idly, “I thought you two worked rather well together.”

The look Thorin sent Balin’s way was one of disbelief. “Togeth-” he started, before shutting his mouth with a sharp click of teeth. He looked back over at Bilbo. “You-!”

A loud sigh left Balin. Bilbo made an aborted, helpless gesture toward the older land-walker. He didn’t even know what to say. He’d only woken up an hour ago and his day was already a disaster.

Abruptly, Thorin scoffed and stomped away. The crew scattered as he began shouting orders. Bilbo watched him go wearily. He felt like he had been stretched in a dozen different directions.

Next to him, Balin sighed again. “He’ll come ‘roud, Navigator. You’ll see.”

“Somehow I find that hard to believe,” replied Bilbo tiredly.

Balin only chuckled in response.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I won't lie, I feel like that ending kind of got away from me a little bit. It's late, though, so maybe tomorrow I'll go back through and clean it up some. If I make any significant changes, I'll delete the chapter and repost it, so you should get a fresh email if you're subscribed or whatever. But idk I probably will end up just leaving it.
> 
> Anyways. I love all of you. Even you few that constantly ask me when the next update will be. (Hint: The next update will be whenever I finish the next chapter. Patience is a virtue.) But in all seriousness I am so grateful that you guys take time out of your lives to leave comments like whoa that kind of blows my mind and I'm just going to shut up now. 
> 
> But whoa holy mess I almost forgot, did you guys like the partial reveal? Bilbo's "big reveal" is approaching...
> 
> durinsheir


	14. A Certain Level of Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I need an island,” he said in lieu of a greeting. The frown still pulled at his face.
> 
> Bilbo sighed internally. Aloud, he replied, “An island? Have you finally decided to inform me of the final destination of this quest, or are you just looking to retire somewhere tropical?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In honor of the new trailer, a give you a chapter. Who cried? I cried. A lot. 
> 
> Quick reminder - 
> 
> port = left (easy way to remember this is that both 'port' and 'left' have four letters)  
>  starboard = right  
>  stern = back of the ship, directionally referred to as 'aft' (like 'after')  
>  bow = front of the ship, directionally referred to as 'fore' (like 'before')  
>  quarterdeck = taller deck towards the stern, the helm is here. sometimes there's another, higher deck behind this called the poop deck. this is not a joke.   
>  main deck = the middle deck, the mainmast is here, as are the entrances to the hold and usually the doors to the captain's cabin and sometimes other cabins. On this ship, there are six guns (cannons) on either side of the deck.  
>  hold = kind of a general term for all the decks below the main/quarter/etc. the crew sleeps here, the mess (cafeteria-ish eating area), and the gun decks are all down here. This ship carries 36 guns total. 12 on the maindeck, 24 on the other gun decks.   
>  mainmast = the biggest, central mast on a ship. biggest in the sense that it is the tallest and has the largest sails, so if it's broken then you're fucked.

Now that it was dead, the serpent was much easier to dispose of. The formerly impenetrable scales peeled away from the flesh, which allowed the crew to begin hacking the long body into more manageable pieces. It took the entire day, but eventually the last hunk of rotting serpent was cast into the ocean. Bilbo watched from his usual spot behind the helm as Bofur and his men immediately set to work on bracing the mainmast.

“I need another six-footer,” Bofur called out. One of his workers disappeared into the hold. A moment later, the man climbed back out of the hold and made his way to Bofur’s side. He leaned in and said something to the cheery land-walker that Bilbo couldn’t hear.

“You’re joking? This is a joke,” Bofur said. He reached up and rubbed tiredly at his face. The sailor shook his head in reply. Bofur continued, “ _Damn_. Damn! Someone notify – no, no, never mind, I’ll tell him.” He left the crewmen standing around the half-repaired mast and disappeared into the captain’s cabin. A few minutes passed, and Bilbo was about to return to his maps when he heard the door open again.

Bofur darted up the stairs connecting the main to the quarterdeck. “Bilbo?” he called. The merman stuck his head around a crate and cleared his throat.

“Um?”

“There you are – listen, have you got a map of where we are right now?” Bofur asked, leaning close and peering at the parchment spread out in front of Bilbo. “Is this it?”

“Hm? What? Oh, no, this is,” Bilbo paused, searching for the heading at the top of the map, “this is Hithlum. I have quite a few maps of Beleriand in my bag, though. What do you need them for?”

Bofur shook his head and plucked the pen out of Bilbo’s hand, ignoring the merman’s cry of protest. “Bring ‘em all. Captain wants to see ‘em.”

With an exasperated growl, Bilbo snatched back his pen and placed it carefully in his satchel before hefting the bag over his shoulder. “Alright, alright. Fine. Lead on.” He waved Bofur in front of him. The land-walker led the way back down to the captain’s door. He knocked once and pushed inside without waiting for an answer.

Thorin was leaning against the corner of his desk, arms crossed and a deep frown on his face. It was more of a pensive frown than an angry one, Bilbo noticed with no small amount of relief. The merman had a moment to admire the way the setting sun painted the water through the tall windows before the door thumped shut behind them and drew Thorin from his thoughts.

“I need an island,” he said in lieu of a greeting. The frown still pulled at his face.

Bilbo sighed internally. Aloud, he replied, “An island? Have you finally decided to inform me of the final destination of this quest, or are you just looking to retire somewhere tropical?” Something in the back of his mind was shrieking about self-preservation. He heard Bofur choke back a snort behind him. Thorin’s expression darkened.

“Neither,” the captain said through clenched teeth. He took a deep breath and pushed away from the side of the desk. Bilbo watched him pace for a few steps. No more snappy comments, he told himself. Reign it in, old boy.

“We need to repair the mainmast,” Thorin continued after a moment. “And we have no more wood. I need an island,” he glanced over at Bilbo pointedly, “that would have suitably sized trees. Do you know of such a place nearby?”

Bilbo hesitated. He knew there were islands on his maps, of course, but how was he supposed to know how big the trees were on any of those islands?

“Well?” demanded Thorin, startling Bilbo into movement. The merman brushed by him and set his satchel on top of the desk. He set to digging through it, muttering the names of the maps’ headings as he flicked through them. There were five maps of Beleriand total, two of which detailed East Beleriand. He spread both out on the desk, sweeping aside Thorin’s own stacks of parchment and books.

“Here we are,” he murmured, leaning over the first of the maps. It was the more detailed one, the one he had worked on the most. The other was far older, and most of the names were in a different language. “We came through the Luin right,” he traced his finger down the mountain chain until he found the pass, “here.”

Thorin leaned over his shoulder and Bilbo’s breathing hitched. He fought the urge to step out of arm’s reach. The captain seemed oblivious to Bilbo’s discomfort and hummed thoughtfully. “What are these spots of red?” he asked, his own finger joining Bilbo’s on the map and pointing at the brightly colored dots running up and down the Luin.

“Um. Floor-boilers,” Bilbo said. “Big ones. Uh – the nearest islands with big trees, you said?”

“Floor-boiler?” Bofur asked from behind them. The carpenter appeared on Thorin’s other side.

“Uh.”

Thorin looked at him expectantly.

“Underwater fire mountains? They boil the ocean and kill nearly everything that gets too close. I, erm, I marked all the big ones I could remember. Anyways, islands…”

“Volcanoes? Is that what you mean?” asked Bofur. “But how do they work if they’re underwater?”

Thorin leaned back, finally. The pensive frown was back. “You’ve seen them? The water volcanoes?” he asked.

Bilbo nodded. Had they not? “Not up close, obviously. But yes, I’ve seen one before. The melted rock doesn’t survive for very long once the water touches it, but it’s still damned hot.”

“Mahal,” breathed Bofur. “Looks like we sailed right over one, too.” He nodded at the map.

Thorin breathed in sharply and turned to Bilbo. “Right over a volcano?” he demanded. “Is he right?”

“Well, yes, but-”

“And this didn’t seem like something you should have told me? If it had been active, it could have killed us all!”

“Look, the – the volcanoes,” the word felt weird in Bilbo’s mouth, “they’re really quite deep, so even-”

“I have witnessed firsthand how high a volcano can spit its fire, Navigator. The gods themselves probably feel the heat. So, again, _why_ was I not informed?”

Bilbo gestured vaguely at the floor. “The fire doesn’t go up!” he told them exasperatedly. “It just oozes out on the ocean floor! It would take a dozen of the _Orcrist_ laid end-to-end to even come close to the volcanoes! Besides, I didn’t ‘inform you’ because I was too busy having my _life_ threatened! By _you_!” He jabbed a finger in the captain’s chest without thinking. “Now, you want an _island_. Well, Captain Oakenshield, take your pick!” He removed his finger from the captain’s chest and slapped his hand down on the map. “Forlindon to the north – it’s closer, larger – or Amon Ereb to the southwest – it’ll take us three days to get there, and I have no clue what we’ll find. Satisfied?” he finished, chest heaving.

Thorin stared at him, mouth gaping slightly. He looked truly taken aback, and Bilbo couldn’t help but feeling that this sort of thing tended to happen a lot to him and Thorin. Behind the captain, Bofur sighed and rubbed at the bridge of his nose.

Quietly, Thorin cleared his throat and looked back at the map. “Forlindon?” he asked finally, his hand hovering uncertainly over the Luin. Bilbo scrubbed both hands over his face and stepped back up to the desk.

“Right there,” he told Thorin, brushing the land-walker’s hand aside and tapping at the island. It wasn’t labeled, so he pulled out his pen and jotted the name down. With the opposite end of the pen, he tapped at another spot on the map. “And we’re somewhere around here.”

“I will have Dori plot a course to the island.” Thorin paused as if searching for something else to say. He glanced up from the map, his eyes darting over to the powder burn on Bilbo’s face. “I-”

There was a sudden pounding on the door. “Captain! Sail on the north horizon!”

Thorin’s entire body snapped to attention. He lunged away from the desk, rushed to the door, and yanked it open to admit a grim-faced sailor. “How many masts? What colors are they flying?”

The sailor shook his head. “Too far off and too dark to tell. But they’re closing in – we think they may have seen us.”

Thorin swore colorfully, as did Bofur, and dismissed the sailor. He swept back through his cabin, picking up items and chunking them into the heavy chests against the walls. Bofur handed him his sword belt and sword, followed by two pistols. Next came the blue greatcoat, followed by a third pistol. The captain returned to the table, brusquely rolled up Bilbo’s maps and slid them into a desk drawer. Without asking, he dropped the merman’s satchel in the drawer as well, and kicked the drawer shut while shoving the pistols into their holsters.

Bofur was already out the door shouting for Nori, and Thorin was close behind. Bilbo wondered what in Yavanna’s name he was supposed to do; last time Gandalf had ushered him up to the quarterdeck, but Gandalf – well, Gandalf could dive off the stern for all Bilbo cared at this point. Just as he reached the door, however, Thorin halted. He slapped his hand against the frame and cursed again, turning back to Bilbo.

“You-” he started, then rolled his eyes. “Here. Come on.” Bilbo hesitated, and Thorin shouted, “Navigator!”

“Yes, alright! What-” Bilbo dashed after the captain out onto the deck. The crew was at the ready, waiting for orders. Thorin found the sailor that had alerted them a moment ago waiting next to the quarterdeck stairs on the starboard side.

“Which direction?” he asked, taking a spyglass from the man. The sailor pointed off the side.

“Two points to the left, sir. Three masts with full canvas. Still can’t see her colors. We’ll lose the light before she’s close enough to know who she belongs to.” He was right. The sun was already halfway below the opposite horizon. Stars were beginning to appear overhead.

Thorin brought the spyglass to his eye and looked through it. “Damn,” he growled, and pulled back from the instrument. He snapped it closed and passed it back to the sailor. “Damn!” He whirled around, nearly colliding with Bilbo, and found Bofur amongst the waiting crewmen. “Could we do it? Will the mast hold?” he demanded.

Bofur’s jaw tightened. He didn’t reply. Dori spoke up from behind the helm. “They have the wind, Captain, not us. Even if the mast held, it’d be dangerous.”

“Can the main support any canvas?” Thorin asked, turning back to Bofur.

The carpenter shook his head. “Nothing in the tops, no matter what happens. My boys and I can rig up a false mainsail, though.”

“Do it,” ordered Thorin. He turned back to Bilbo. “You said there’s another island? To the south?”

“Yes, southwest, Amon Ereb.”

“Can you lead us there?”

“Can – yes. Yes, I can,” Bilbo stated, straightening up and nodding to Thorin. The captain grabbed his shoulder and started him up the stairs to the quarterdeck where Dori was standing at the helm.

“Which way, Navigator?” the helmsman asked.

“West – no, no, wait,” he shook his head and ran a head through his hair. Dori halted the wheel halfway through his turn. “Go south. Straight south. There’s – there’s a current, the Gelion, it’ll carry us faster than the wind.”

Dori heaved the wheel around. “South it is.” The yardarms overhead came swinging around, and the _Orcrist_ listed slightly to the side as the ship carved to the left in the water.

“South?” Thorin called from his position on the main deck.

“Do you trust me?” Bilbo called back. Thorin opened his mouth to reply, but the faint but clear pealing of a bell from the north interrupted him.

“Well, they’ve certainly seen us now,” one of the sailors near Bilbo said. The merman turned and peered into the dark. Every lantern on the other ship appeared to be lit, all the way up to the topsails. The white of the sailcloth amplified the glow, giving the massive ship an almost otherworldly look. A chill ran up Bilbo’s spine. The bell continued it’s loud clanging.

Thorin’s shout brought Bilbo whirling back around, but the call wasn’t directed at him. “ _All hands on deck! Beat to quarters!_ ” Crewmen began pouring out of the hold, struggling into boots and strapping swords around their waists. A young man dashed up to the quarterdeck with a small drum and began beating out a rapid tempo. Dwalin surged through the crowd on the main deck, bellowing orders until he reached Thorin’s side.

Dori added his own orders to the fray, “ _Full sail! Give me every stitch of canvas she can manage!_ ”

The men on deck ran out the great guns while others climbed aloft, loosing the rest of the sails from the rigging. The canvases _whumped_ outward when the wind caught them, and the _Orcrist_ lurched forward as she picked up speed. Bilbo spotted Bofur halfway up the mainmast tying a makeshift sail into place with the rest of his carpenters. The mast creaked ominously.

“As much as you can give me, Bofur!” Dori called out again. Bofur gave him a thumbs-up as he slid around to the opposite side of the mast to affix the sail to a free-hanging line. The wind curled into the false sail and caused it to billow out slightly. Bofur tugged the last of the rigging into place and slid down the mast. Nori caught him around the waist just before his feet touched the deck and dragged him away. Ferris shadowed the pair, his rapier clutched in one hand and a pistol in the other.

An answering drumbeat began on the other ship; it was deeper, and Bilbo’s heart thudded along with each beat. He clutched his coat tighter around his frame. The ring weighed heavily on his hand, but he clenched his fists and ignored the pull of the ocean. Gandalf appeared from belowdecks and joined Bilbo behind the helm. To the merman’s surprise, there was a long sword hanging from the wizard’s hip.

Thorin, followed by Dwalin, took the steps up to the quarterdeck two at a time. He flew passed Bilbo and Gandalf to the stern railing.

“A glass, someone give me a damned spyglass!” the captain demanded. Someone nearby slapped one into his waiting hands, and Thorin brought it up to his eye. “Come on, come on, you ugly bitch, show us your colors,” he murmured darkly. Then, louder, “She’s not from the White City, not with that waistline, and she’s too big for one of Peredhel’s designs.”

“The Defiler?” Dwalin asked over the clanging of the deck bell and the beating drum.

Thorin slammed closed the spyglass. “Mahal help us if it is. We’re practically sitting ducks. Dammit!” He nearly broke the spyglass over the railing, but stopped at the last minute and handed it back to its owner. “I need more speed, Dori,” he continued, turning back to the helm. He took up a position in between Bilbo and the helmsman, arms crossed and thunder in his eyes.

“I’m giving her all she’s got, Captain,” Dori replied. “The navigator’s got us driving to some big current that runs south.”

“How long?” the captain demanded of Bilbo.

Bilbo shook his head, hands running nervously through his hair and back down over his arms. “Within the hour? It’s close, and it’ll take us almost straight to Amon Ereb.”

“I hope you’re right, Navigator,” Thorin growled.

From somewhere high above them, a scream rang out, “ _Black flag! Black flag!_ ”

Everything on the ship seemed to stop. The drummer’s beat faltered, the men at the guns halted their movements, and even the wind seemed to die. Thorin was back at the railing staring hard at the other ship. He was gripping the wood so hard Bilbo half worried the railing might crack.

“We can’t fight them, not a ship from Dol Guldur, not like this. They’ll destroy us,” Dwalin said to Thorin. The captain did not reply, but pushed away from the railing and returned to the helm. He drew in a deep breath. The crew waited, silent.

“Full retreat!” Thorin called out finally. The drummer restarted his drumroll, and the crew sprang into action. The wind whipped around Bilbo’s face as the _Orcrist_ cut through the waves. His teeth began to chatter slightly, and his skin broke out in gooseflesh. He knew, he _knew_ the Gelion Current was close, but would it be enough? What would happen if this ‘ship from Dol Guldur’ caught up with them?

A hollow _boom_ followed by a shrill screaming sounded from behind them, and Bilbo suddenly found himself face down on the deck as Dwalin roared “ _DOWN!_ ” Something crashed into the ocean behind them. The heavy hand on Bilbo’s back lifted, and the merman lay on the wood gasping. He knew that sound. _Cannon fire_. The other ship was closing in.

“On your feet, Navigator,” Thorin said in his ear and hauled him to his feet by the collar of his jacket. “On your feet, and pray that your current will keep us out of range.”

Dori shouted up into the rigging above them. “More sail! More sail!”

Bofur’s voice echoed down in reply, “There’s no more to give!”

Another earth-shattering boom came from behind them, but this time the shot went wide and high, crashing into the ocean on their left. Nori screamed from somewhere down on the main deck. “Bofur, you fool, get back down here before you get killed!”

The ship jolted suddenly. Dori shouted in wordless surprise before gripping the wheel tighter and turning to Bilbo. “Found your current, Navigator.” He grunted and braced himself against the wheel. “Damned powerful pull, too. Here we go.” The wind began to whistle by them, and the rigging groaned overhead. The enemy ship fired another shot, but it was short and landed several ship-lengths behind the _Orcrist._

“Push her as hard as you can, Dori,” Thorin ordered. “We aren’t out of this yet. They will catch the current as well before long.”

Dori nodded and readjusted his grip on the wheel. Several minutes of tense silence passed. Thorin was back at the railing peering through the spyglass. He inhaled sharply after several more minutes. “They’ve found the current. And,” he paused and lowered the spyglass, “I do believe that it is the _Necromancer._ ”

Dwalin swore. “You’re sure? The _Necromancer_?” Thorin nodded once, mouth pressed into a thin line.

The quarterdeck was silent. Bilbo cleared his throat uncertainly. “What – who – is this necromancer?”

Thorin turned to look at the merman. A hint of sadness flickered across his face as he walked back up the deck to stand in front of Bilbo. He reached into his coat and pulled out a pistol – _the_ pistol, Bilbo noticed with no small amount of alarm. “It is our doom,” the captain told him, and pressed the pistol into his hands.

Bilbo held the gun gingerly in one hand out away from his body. Thorin snorted softly and forced Bilbo’s hands to hold the pistol properly.

“Do you trust me?” the captain asked.

“It’s not you I’m worried about at the moment,” Bilbo snapped back automatically, startling a laugh out of Thorin. The captain quickly sobered, however, and turned back to the others on the quarterdeck.

“They will catch us,” he said. “Whichever one of the Nine is onboard will likely kill me-”

“Not if I have anything to say about it,” Dwalin interrupted darkly.

“And the rest of you will surrender. If you’re lucky, you can escape later or get word to Dís. What the hell are you all looking at me like that for?” he demanded, glaring at each of them in turn.

“You’re mad if you think we’re just going to _surrender_ , Captain,” Dori said through clenched teeth. He was still braced up against the wheel.

“Really, though,” Bilbo agreed. “Even I know that’s ridiculous.” Next to him, Gandalf chuckled softly.

Thorin rolled his eyes skyward and sighed explosively. “You’ll all be killed, you fools.”

“Aye,” Dwalin said conversationally.

Bilbo tried to calm his pounding heart and shoved the pistol into one of his pockets. “I’m actually a fair swimmer,” he quipped. His voice wavered a bit, but no one seemed to notice. Thorin shook his head.

Suddenly, Dori gasped loudly and the wheel spun sharply in his hands. The ship wavered in the water and slowed.

“What happened?” Thorin grabbed the wheel next to Dori and began throwing it back in the right direction.

“I lost the current!” Dori said. “It ripped the rudder out of my control and sent us to the side.”

The _Necromancer_ noticed their sudden change in speed and fired again. This time the shot came screaming just off the starboard side and landed in a spray of boiling water just beyond the main deck. Another shot followed almost immediately, and Bilbo dropped to the deck just as Gandalf reached for him. The cannonball tore through the rigging above their heads all the way up the length of the ship and over the bow. Splinters and shreds of fabric rained down on them from above.

Gandalf grabbed Bilbo and pulled him to his knees. “Go, Bilbo. Take off the ring and go,” he ordered quietly. For half a moment, Bilbo nearly did it. His ears were ringing from the shriek of the cannonball, and the air wheezed in and out of his lungs. He reached for the ring and had the golden band over his first knuckle before he came to his sense.

He wasn’t just going to _run away_. He wasn’t going to abandon this ship, not now.

Angrily, he jammed the ring back down his finger and scrambled backward away from the wizard. He collided with someone, and he rolled over to find Thorin still holding onto the wheel from his position crouched on the deck.

“You still think surrendering is ridiculous?” the captain asked. Bilbo made a disgusted noise and rolled his eyes.

The ship leaned slightly to one side, and the wheel pulled Thorin nearly all the way to his feet before he fought it back down. Bilbo suddenly had an idea. “Do you trust me?”

“Are we going to keep asking each other this question?” Thorin asked.

“Only if you don’t answer!”

“This _really_ isn’t the time, you two,” Dori shouted from his position on the other side of the wheel.

“Yes!” Thorin yelled. “Yes, alright!”

“Let go of the wheel,” Bilbo told him. Thorin and Dori both gaped at him. “Do it!”

The _Necromancer_ fired again. The shot took out the railing on the port side, and just as it struck, Thorin shoved Bilbo’s face down to the deck. Someone on the main deck screamed. Splinters of wood as long as Bilbo’s arms rained down on them. A few smaller slivers stuck in his jacket and sliced at his exposed hands and neck. Thorin let go of him, and he looked up and shrieked. Blood painted Dori’s face as it poured from a gash in his forehead.

“Just a scratch!” the helmsman shouted over the yelling on the main deck. He wiped at the blood, but only succeeded in smearing it across his face. Thorin swore loudly, and Bilbo glanced up just in time to see the captain yanking a long splinter out of the back of his hand. Blood welled up and dripped down to the deck. Thorin still hadn’t released the wheel, so Bilbo reached over and wrapped one hand around the man’s wrist.

“Let go! The current will carry us!” Bilbo shouted.

Thorin looked him in the eyes. “This could kill us all.”

“It won’t! Just _let go_.”

The captain shook his head violently but lifted his hands from the wheel. The current immediately snatched the wheel from Dori’s grip as well, and the wheel spun wildly to the right before slowing. The _Orcrist_ seemed to pause for a moment as if she was gathering herself, and then the current launched the ship forward at full speed.

“Mahal above,” Dori swore, swiping blood out of his eyes again. Bilbo looked down, realized he was still holding the captain’s wrist, and snatched his hand away. The wheel spun haphazardly above them, but the ship continued forward at a breakneck pace. Thorin’s face split into a mad grin as he looked back and forth between the wheel and Bilbo.

“You!” He clapped Bilbo on the shoulder just as another shot boomed from behind them. The shot went wide again, and the one that followed was several ship-lengths short. “How far to Amon Ereb?” Thorin asked.

Bilbo inhaled shakily and settled back onto the deck in a more comfortable position. “Not three days, that’s for sure. At this pace we’ll probably be there by the next sunset.”

“Good,” replied Thorin. “Good. Um, excellent work, Navigator.” He gripped Bilbo’s shoulder again and squeezed before releasing the merman and standing. Someone grabbed the back of Bilbo’s jacket and lifted him to his feet. He turned to see Dwalin staring at him. The huge land-walker nodded at him once and moved away down to the main deck. Thorin left the quarterdeck as well to survey the damage done to his ship.

Bilbo remained on the quarterdeck with Dori. He wasn’t sure what else he was supposed to do. Gandalf left his side after Bilbo ignored his attempts at conversation. After a few minutes of blessed silence, Dori punched Bilbo in the arm. The merman was sure that Dori meant it to be a gentle punch, but he almost lost his footing.

“How’d you know?” the helmsman asked. He had scrubbed some of the blood off his face with the bottom of his shirt, but what remained still looked absolutely ghastly. “How’d you know that letting go wouldn’t doom us?”

Bilbo rubbed at the nape of his neck and rocked back on his heels slightly. “Um,” he started.

“You didn’t,” Dori deadpanned. “Oh, great Mahal, you had no idea if that was going to work or not! We could all be fighting for our lives at this very moment if you had been wrong, you know?”

“Of course I know,” hissed Bilbo in reply. “I knew it would work in theory, but I’ve never done something like this above the surf – erm, never with a ship this large, but it did work, so why don’t we never speak of this again?”

Dori scoffed and made to reach for the wheel before letting his arms drop to his sides. Bilbo left him watching the wheel waver back and forth. The inside of his cabin, when he got down belowdecks, was a wreck. Both his and Gandalf’s belongings were strewn across the floor, and his little hammock had twisted itself into a knot. With a sigh, Bilbo backed out of the cabin and shut the door. He would deal with it later.

“Bilbo!”

He turned to see Ori racing down the passage toward him. Fíli and Kíli followed close behind, of course. “Ori! Boys, are you alright?”

Fíli had his hand fisted in the back of his brother’s coat. The young man’s expression was grim. “Is it Azog?” he asked.

“Azog – no, mercy no,” Bilbo replied. “Are you all alright?”

“Yeah, we’re fine. I fell off my bunk, though,” Kíli said, grinning tentatively. Bilbo smiled back.

“Listen, Kíli, about the other day – I was an absolute arse when you were just trying to be nice, and-”

“Jeez, Mister Boggins,” Kíli interrupted with a cheeky smile, “don’t make it weird. You were having a bad day, that’s all.”

“ _Baggins_ ,” sighed Fíli under his breath.

Kíli ignored him and continued, “Is Uncle still on deck? The other ship, they didn’t hurt our _Orcrist_ did they?” He started past him down the corridor. “Come on, Fee, let’s go look.”

Bilbo hummed uncertainly and stretched his arm across the corridor to block the boy’s path. “Um. It’s a mess up there, and I’m pretty sure your, uh, the captain is busy, and it’ll probably help him more if he doesn’t have to worry about you getting hurt? Besides!” he added quickly when Kíli looked at him skeptically. “Besides, I actually – I need your help, if you have time?”

That brought the boy up short. “Help?”

Bilbo caught Ori and Fíli’s curious expressions over the top of Kíli’s head and shrugged. “I don’t think I will be bunking with the wizard any longer. Is there somewhere else I can take my belongings?”

Kíli immediately whirled around and latched onto his brother. “Can he stay in our room?”

“Ah, yeah, I mean, there’s that extra hammock-”

“Excellent!” Kíli shouted as he threw open the door to Gandalf’s cabin and dashed inside. “Which stuff is yours, Mister Bilbo?”

“Kee, you didn’t even ask if he _wanted_ to stay with us,” Fíli commented idly. He threw an apologetic look Bilbo’s way. The merman smiled.

The younger boy called from inside the room, “Do you want to stay in our room, Mister Bilbo?”

“Only if it’s not too much trouble,” Bilbo replied. “And Gandalf’s things are mostly grey. The rest is mine. Here, let me – oh, wow, that was fast.” Kíli scurried by, his arms laden with what appeared to be mostly Bilbo’s belongings. The merman thought he spied a few of Gandalf’s socks in amongst the other things. Oh well.

He followed the boys back down the corridor and deeper into the ship. The room they deposited Bilbo’s belongings in was bigger than the one he had shared with Gandalf, but still small, with two skinny bunks and a few feet of space on either side. It was a little cluttered, and the beds were unmade, but Bilbo liked it instantly.

“Boys,” he sighed, “Thank you. I can’t even begin to-”

“Hey, didn’t I say don’t make it weird?” Kíli set his burden down on one of the beds. “You’re pretty cool, Mister Bilbo.”

Ori snorted, and out of reflex, Bilbo reached out and pinched his ear. The resulting yelp was immensely rewarding. The scribe glared at him halfheartedly, but when Fíli and Kíli burst out laughing, he grinned.

“You hear that?” Bilbo said. “I’m cool.”

 

He didn’t get much of a respite from the danger following them. A few hours of helping clean up what he could, with a few short breaks for food and rest, and he was back on the quarterdeck. Dori dismissed the sailor at the helm and took his place behind the wheel. He glared murderously at the free-spinning wheel; the scraggly bandage wrapped around his forehead multiplied the effect of his ire.

The Gelion current pulled them steadily along. The sun was high overhead, but the biting wind chased away any warmth on the deck. Bilbo glanced around the deck; the portside railing was gone, as was a huge chunk of the stairs that led down to the main deck on that side. A couple of sailors were scattered around the quarterdeck with various tools, repairing what they could. Bilbo could hear Bofur’s voice somewhere above him as he and his fellow carpenters worked in the rigging.

Someone dropped down to the deck behind him; it was Nori.

“The bastards’ still back there?” Dori asked without turning around.

Nori grunted and spat, ignoring Dori’s glare when the glob landed on the moderately clean deck. “Still there, yeah. About four miles back. They’ve been keeping pace, but they keep slipping out of the current. I suspect if they tried our Navigator’s little trick,” he nodded at Bilbo, “they’d‘ve caught up and slaughtered us by now.”

Bilbo swallowed nervously, but Dori merely nodded. “Good. I’ll let the captain know.”

A second person thudded heavily onto the deck. “The captain already knows,” Thorin said tiredly as he let go of the rope he had used to descend from the rigging. He looked terrible, Bilbo noticed. Exhausted. It was disturbing; Bilbo had the absurd notion that someone like Thorin wasn’t supposed to be _tired_ or look practically half-dead. But he did look half-dead, with dark circles under heavy-lidded eyes and a certain slow _drag_ to his movements.

“Captain,” greeted Dori quietly. Thorin nodded at him in reply. He moved over to join them around the wheel.

His hand landed heavily on Bilbo’s shoulder. There was a dirty scrap of cloth tied around it, and Bilbo could see where the blood had seeped through. “Navigator,” he said, mouth opening in an obscenely wide yawn halfway through the greeting. The hand sipped from Bilbo’s shoulder, and the captain scrubbed both hands down his face brusquely. “You’re still up, Dori? You should get some rest.”

The helmsman snorted loudly. “I’ve already rested and come back twice, Captain. Maybe _you_ should turn in for a few hours. I’ve seen corpses with more life in them.”

A huff of laughter escaped Thorin. “You don’t have to mother-hen me, helmsman-”

“Someone does,” muttered Dori.

“But a couple of hours of sleep wouldn’t go amiss. Two hours, and then one of you come wake me up,” he ordered as he trudged down to the main deck.

“Aye, sir,” Dori called after him. As soon as the captain disappeared into his cabin, Dori turned to Bilbo. “How long before this island of yours is on the horizon?”

“Hm, six, seven hours?”

“Well then, barring any attacks or other disasters, I think six or seven hours of sleep will do our illustrious captain a world of good.”

Bilbo quirked one eyebrow at the land-walker. “You aren’t worried about him getting…”

“Angry? Irate? Flying into a murderous rage?” Nori interjected.

“Um, yes. Those.”

Dori laughed aloud. “You’ve seen many sides of Captain Oakenshield, Navigator, I’ll admit, and I’ll even acknowledge that you probably saw the worst of him before the best.”

“That doesn’t answer my question,” Bilbo pointed out.

“No, it doesn’t.”

Bilbo waited, but the land-walker did not elaborate further. He let out an exasperated sigh, and Dori laughed again.

 

Thorin didn’t get his six or seven hours, though it was through no lack of effort on Dori’s part. He warded away any and all potential visitors to the cabin by simply glaring, and the fifth hour was approaching when the door flew open.

“Dori,” the captain growled when he mounted the stairs to the helm.

“Captain,” the helmsman replied with a straight face. Thorin opened his mouth to retaliate, but instead heaved a sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose between the thumb and forefinger of one hand.

“What’s your explanation, then?” the captain asked, turning to Bilbo.

“Ah,” started Bilbo. He glanced at Dori for help, but the land-walker was staring straight ahead. Bilbo grumbled under his breath.

“Well?”

“Well,” Bilbo continued, “you did look dreadful.”

Thorin froze, and even Dori’s shoulders went stiff. Bilbo started leaning backwards a bit, ready to dodge if, well, who knew what Thorin would do.

To Bilbo’s surprise, Thorin suddenly relaxed, chuckled, and scratched at his jaw. His fingernails scraped over his beard, and Bilbo found his eyes drawn to the movement.

“Navigator,” said Thorin, and Bilbo tore his gaze away from Thorin’s jaw. He instead locked eyes with the captain, but a squirming sensation in his stomach made him look away from there, too. “If there’s one thing I can count on, it’s the fact that you will not lie to me.” 

Bilbo felt like his heart had dropped straight down through his toes. No lies, the captain thought. The ring felt like it was tightening on his finger. He thought he might vomit, but he quirked a little half-grin anyway before turning away.

“No lies,” he agreed hollowly.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

Author's Notes (and links!)

Want to watch something cool and relevant? Not sure what "beat to quarters" means/sounds like? Wanna see what it looks like when a ship is struck by cannon fire? Wonder no more, my friends. I recommend watching the whole clip just because it's all great, but the important stuff starts at around 2:10 [CLICK!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y9S1iK3HnGo)

Not really sure where the  _Orcrist_ is right now? [Check out this map.](http://s22.postimg.org/5xk0mjx7l/ch14map.jpg) Credit goes to the original creator, Kyriel, I just colored over it to show where the ocean stops and what are now islands. If it's blue, it's water. If it's tan, it's land. Red is the  _Orcrist's_ path. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys rock my socks, have I mentioned this?
> 
> More coming soon, within the next two weeks at least? Idk, I've got a good deal written, but homecoming is next week and I'm really involved this year so we'll see.


	15. With a Sword in Hand

It wasn’t really lying, was it?  

This thought and others like it had been whirling around in Bilbo’s head for the past hour. Was it lying if he never corrected the captain’s assumption that he was human? There was a term for that wasn’t there? Lying through omission, or something like that.  

But why should he care what Thorin believed? It didn’t matter what Thorin thought he was – it did  _not_ , Bilbo scolded himself firmly. He didn’t need to be Thorin’s friend. He just needed to get these land-walkers West, and then he could go back  _home_. Right now, however, he needed to pay attention to the horizon.  

He was currently standing at the bow of the ship, spyglass in hand, waiting for Amon Ereb to appear on the horizon. It wouldn’t be long, perhaps a few more minutes. The wild Gelion current threw them along at an almost dizzying pace, but Bilbo was more than willing to forego comfortable speeds in order to escape their pursuers. The  _Necromancer_  had disappeared over the opposite horizon; Bilbo continued to look back over his shoulder, just in case. The larger ship still followed, he knew, and he hoped the  _Orcrist_  could escape it.  

The spyglass was a truly marvelous bit of land-walker engineering, he thought as he peered through the long tube. For such a small device to allow him to see so far – incredible. The sky and sea met far ahead, their blues blending together, only to be broken by –  

“Amon Ereb!” Bilbo shouted suddenly. “There!” He turned to shout back toward the helm. “Land ahead! Amon Ereb’s just ahead!” 

A sailor in the rigging above him picked up the call. “Land ho!”  

He heard Dori shouting for the captain, who in turn was shouting for Bilbo. The merman dashed back down the deck. He met Thorin halfway and the two rejoined Dori on the quarterdeck.  

“How far?” Thorin asked.  

Bilbo shook his head. “Not far at all – not even an hour’s swim, um, sail away.” 

Dori looked at him curiously. “I hope we won’t have to swim there.”  

“We will have to pull out of the Gelion, however,” Bilbo continued, ignoring his own slip-up and Dori’s comment. “The current swings back east just as it passes Amon Ereb.”  

Thorin made a thoughtful noise deep in his throat. “That is where the  _Necromancer_  will catch up to us, most likely.” He sighed and braced his arms on the railing. “What’s the shape of the island? Navigator?” 

“Ah, round? It’s a great hill, from my understanding. Though, I think there may be a lagoon on the western side large enough to shelter us.”  

“Good, good – Dori,” the captain pushed off from the railing and turned to the helmsman, “if we’re quick enough-” 

“We can get around into the lagoon before they spot us, aye,” Dori finished. “It should buy us some time – and perhaps they’ll lose us completely once night falls. The Nine aren’t stupid, if they know of this island, they’ll suspect we’ve gone ‘round it, but hopefully they’ll keep with the current for a while.”  

“It’s our best hope,” said Thorin. “Prepare to leave the current – as fast as she can manage.”  

Bilbo took a shaky breath and squared his stance on the quarterdeck. Dori adjusted his grip on the helm. Gradually, he turned the wheel to the right; the  _Orcrist_  moaned beneath their feet and above their heads as the current began to fight her.  

“Steady, steady,” murmured Dori, half to the others and half to the ship. The wind was cutting perpendicular across the deck now, biting at Bilbo’s cheeks and tangling his wayward curls. Dori shifted and pushed harder on the wheel. He grunted with the effort, and Thorin stepped up to help. Together, they forced the ship to turn. “Nearly there.” 

The current was angry, angry that they would pull from this course, and tried to force them back southward. Bilbo has bitten his lip bloody, his eyes darting from the men at the helm, to the horizon behind, and out toward Amon Ereb and the setting sun. 

With an almighty surge, the  _Orcrist_  tore free of the Gelion. Her bow crashed hard into the trough of a wave, and water arced high over the foredeck. The sails went slack for a moment, but the wind quickly refilled them, and the ship leapt forward once more. Thorin let go of the helm and began barking orders.  

“Speed! I designed this ship for speed, now  _show me what she’s made of!_ ”  

A ragged cry went up from the crew on deck and in the rigging. The island was close, close enough that they might actually survive the next few hours. Bilbo followed Thorin to the stern railing, still chewing at his lip as the captain watched the horizon through the spyglass.  

“Who are the Nine?” he found himself asking after a minute of tense silence. Thorin’s shoulders stiffened slightly, and he didn’t pull the spyglass away from his face.  

“We aren’t sure,” Thorin said finally. Bilbo started to ask another question, but the captain cut him off. “Sometimes they work with Azog, sometimes not. They don’t seem to be under his command, yet they willingly aid his cause. We call them the Nine because of their ships: nine nearly identical man-of-wars painted black as sin. Their captains are ruthless, hardly human things.” 

Bilbo shuddered. “You said you thought it might be a nec-necromancer?” His tongue stumbled over the word.  

“The  _Necromancer_ ,” Thorin corrected. “One of the Nine’s ships, perhaps captained by their leader. Perhaps not. The figurehead is carved into an image of Death.” 

Again, a shudder raced down Bilbo’s spine, followed by a cold feeling in his gut. An image of Death. His eyes run up and down the horizon, and he hoped with all his being that he wouldn’t see sails.  

“The  _Necromancer_  led the assault on Erebor,” Thorin said quietly, so smoothly that Bilbo nearly missed the words. He closed his gaping mouth and refrained from saying something inane. “They stained their sails black and doused all their lanterns. No one saw them until they were hull-to-hull with my father’s best warships. Of course, by then it was much too late.” There was a sour twist to Thorin’s mouth when Bilbo glanced up.  

“Of course,” Bilbo whispered. Very carefully, before he could talk himself out of it, he leaned toward Thorin until they touched – elbow to elbow, Bilbo’s shoulder brushing Thorin’s upper arm, hips a breath apart, legs brushing from the thigh down.  

Thorin’s entire body seized, and he inhaled sharply through his nose. He didn’t say anything, though, and Bilbo stamped down his instinct to leap away. Slowly, practically muscle-by-muscle, Thorin relaxed. He didn’t lean back into Bilbo, but he didn’t pull away, either. He also never put down the spyglass.  

Bilbo felt like he needed to say something – apologize? No, no, this was a show of solidarity, not an invasion. But, still – something. Words tangled in the back of his throat. He opened his mouth to tell Thorin he was sorry that this burden was his to bear, but what came out was something else entirely.  

“My parents died last year.” 

If he hadn’t been so astonished at himself, Bilbo might have seen Thorin staring at him out of the corner of his eye.  _What in Yavanna’s name_  – He drew in a sharp breath at the grief that wrapped around his heart like a many-tentacled octopus. No stopping now. 

“Both of them, together. Someone said to me after – later, ‘At least they were together.’ Nearly broke his nose. As if something like that makes it  _okay_  that your parents were both just killed. They were  _together_.” He ground out the word through clenched teeth. “But, you know, they didn’t really die together. People can’t die together, not like that. I wasn’t there, you see,” a strained laugh escaped him, “so I don’t know, but I bet Mum died first. She was reckless and too protective of everyone but herself. She was probably trying to protect Dad when the first one got her.” The thought dried up the words in his mouth, dried up his throat, and sucked the air straight out of his lungs. He choked and ignored the way his gills tingled.  

Slowly, Thorin lowered the spyglass. He watched Bilbo carefully, watched the shorter creature stare resolutely at the horizon, saw the glint of his bared teeth and felt the hard line of his set shoulders. “The first what?” he asked, because that was the question required, whether Bilbo wanted to hear it or not.  

The water had been cloudy that day, Bilbo remembered. The storm had stirred up everything and churned sand, silt, and plankton, into a murky mess. The disrupted currents poured rain-chilled water down over the Shire until the fish either fled or died.  

The storm had stirred up everything, including – 

“Sharks,” he said, and the tension in his shoulders increased tenfold. “It was sharks, stirred up by the great autumn storms. The rain and the cold caused the fish to disappear, so the sharks were hungry.” He paused for breath. A shiver skated down his spine. “I went looking, out in the storm, when they didn’t come home. I thought the water was pink because of the plankton. Sharks are very fast, you know,” he said in an almost conversational tone. “Very fast. Smart. Always hungry. Hard to kill.”  

He had had a knife, one that his father used to split oysters, and a rusty sword whose blade was broken off a handbreadth above the hilt.  

Thorin shifted slightly, barely, but it was enough to press back into where Bilbo was still touching him. “Navigator, I-” 

“Captain!”  

They separated, both shifting their weight back to the opposite foot and turning in tandem to face the newcomer. The sailor jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “We’ve reached the shallows.” 

“Good. Hold this speed.” He paused to survey the swiftly approaching island. “Send a few men ashore to watch for the  _Necromancer_  when we’re close enough.” 

“Aye, captain.” The sailor retreated back down to the main deck.  

Bilbo rubbed at his chewed lower lip and inhaled deeply. The memory of storm-cold waters sent a chill racing through him, and his mind drug up the coppery taste of the water when the last shark went still. He shook his head violently, ignoring Thorin’s eyes on him, and turned back to the horizon. “What,” he cleared his throat, “what happens if the  _Necromancer_  catches up with us?”  

Thorin’s hand landed softly on his shoulder. His grip tightened briefly. “We fight.”  

Bilbo glanced up at the captain. They would fight. They would most likely die. He would die here, in foreign waters leagues from home, hopefully with enemy blood on his hands and in his teeth. The ring burned on his finger. “Alright,” he said. “I suppose we should prepare ourselves, then.”  

The hand slipped from his shoulder, and a curious expression stole over the captain’s face. “I suppose we should.”  

With a nod, Bilbo left the captain on the quarterdeck and stepped belowdecks. The air in his lungs was heavy and unwanted, and his eyes itched from dried tears. When he reached the solitude of his new cabin, he leaned heavily against the closed door and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. A sob clawed at the back of his throat. “Hm, no no no,” he hissed, “Pull yourself together, hm?” He inhaled sharply through his nose, dashed the tears from his eyes, and scrubbed both hands through his hair. The sharks in his memory receded. “Right. Prepare.” 

If the ship was overrun, he decided as he toyed with the ring, he would take his fight to the water. If the ship was overrun, or if the boys were in danger. Until then, though… 

He found Ferris lurking on the gun deck. “I need a sword,” he said, eyes darting down to the rapier at the land-walker’s hip. Ferris’ eyebrows crawled up toward his hairline, and his hand dropped to the rapier’s hilt.  

“Do ya, now?”  

“Yes. If we face this  _Necromancer_  and her crew, I’d like to have a weapon.”  

Ferris looked him up and down. He harrumphed, “And I reckon you’ve picked up some sword skills since you killed the storm serpent?” 

Bilbo shifted and scuffed one boot over the floor. “Ah, no?” 

“Mhm. Come on, then.” Ferris turned and picked his way around the cannons. He led Bilbo toward the rear of the ship until they reached the door to the armory. Racks and racks of weapons greeted them – long muskets and rifles, heavy pistols, pyramids of cannonballs, swords, and other things Bilbo had no names for, all waiting to be put to use. Ferris ignored the first several sword racks and stopped in front of a rack mounted on the far wall. He tapped his chin with his forefinger and hummed thoughtfully. “Here.” He pulled one of the blades from the case and hefted it in his hand. “Actually, no. Balance is off.” He put the sword back and grabbed a different one. This one seemed to pass muster and he passed it hilt first to Bilbo.  

It was light, almost as light as the land-walker’s rapier, and the blade lacked the curve that the nearby cutlasses sported. “Not a cutlass?” he asked, twisted his hand into place over the grip. The guard was simple and worn, but covered the entirety of the back of Bilbo’s hand.  

Ferris grabbed a scabbard and belt and ushered him out of the armory. “No, no, not for you. You’re too slim, your reach ain’t long enough, and your arms couldn’t bear the brunt of all that slashin’ and hackin’.” 

“Thanks.” 

“Trust me, fishman. Oh, don’t look at me like that, there’s no one ‘round to hear. Come on, we need more room.” Ferris led him to a stretch of open floor in between the rows of cannons. “You’re right handed?” 

“What?” Bilbo looked curiously at where his right hand was wrapped around the hilt of the sword.  

“You use your right-hand more than your left – write with it and stuff?” 

“Oh! Um, I suppose? I can write with my other hand, too, if I need to. Why does that matter?”  

A dangerously gleeful grin lit up Ferris’ face. “Oh, you’ll be fun to teach – when this is over, Navigator, you’ll learn properly. For now, though, keep to your right hand, since I’m right-handed. There’s a few lads onboard who are southpaws that can show you some tricks later.” With a flourish, the land-walker drew his rapier. He tapped the flat of the blade against Bilbo’s own sword and knocked it up to eye level. “Now, you see the point on your sword? The thinness of the blade?” 

Bilbo nodded.  

“It’s a smallsword, almost like a rapier, but not as long. It’s made for thrusting, none of that messy slashin’ about.” He demonstrated the move, shifting back on one foot and lunging forward with the other while keeping the sword point at chest height. “I don’t have the time to teach you anythin’ truly useful, so the basics’ll have to do for now.” He showed Bilbo the move again and made him copy it until he was satisfied.  

“Is that all? They’re not just going to stand there and let me stab them,” Bilbo said, looking down the flat of the blade at Ferris’ smirking face.  

The land-walker gave him a cheeky salute with his rapier and eased back into a slight crouch. “No, they aren’t. How good are your instincts?”  

“My instincts?” Bilbo had a flashback to the moment he pulled Ferris over the side of the ship. “Um, good. Wh-” 

Ferris flew at him, sword raised. Fearfully, Bilbo brought his own blade up and tried to jump backwards out of reach. The land-walker’s rapier clanged sharply into Bilbo’s sword, sending a stinging vibration up his arm, but before Bilbo could figure out  _what in Ulmo’s name was going on_ , the land-walker had pushed forward and brought his sword down again. Bilbo let out a surprised shout and scrambled backward as quickly as he could. He knocked into a cannon and nearly fell over. Ferris laughed aloud and lowered his rapier.  

“Come on, come on, fishman! You had it for a moment – just keep your arm strong, but not too stiff, like this,” he sheathed his sword and grabbed Bilbo’s arm, “and make sure you don’t hold it too high.” He adjusted Bilbo’s stance. “Basic defense pose.” He tugged his arm around a bit, moving it until he had it in a pose he liked. “Basic attack pose if you can’t stab them. But try to stab them. The blade will break if your enemy is heavy-handed or using a broadsword. Actually,” he paused, frowning, “if they’re usin’ a broadsword – run.”  

“Right. High defense, not too stiff, but not too loose. Stabbing preferred. Avoid broadswords,” Bilbo recited. “Um. What do broadswords look like?” 

Ferris laughed, and laughed, and eventually, Bilbo found himself smiling, too.  

 

They practiced in the solitude of the gun deck until one of the crew came through yelling for Bilbo. The merman looked apologetically at Ferris, but the land-walker only shrugged and sheathed his rapier.  

“Captain’s a-callin’. Ah, don’t forget the scabbard,” he said, throwing the belt and sheath at Bilbo. He sighed when he saw Bilbo struggling to figure out how to wear it and stepped over to help. “There.” He tugged the belt snuggly around Bilbo’s hips and adjusted the scabbard until it hung from his hip correctly. “Good?” 

Bilbo nodded and sheathed his smallsword. “Thank you, Ferris.” 

The land-walker brushed him off. “We’re all prob’ly gonna die, Navigator. At least now you won’t die without putting up a fight.”  

Bilbo wanted to reply, to assure the land-walker that they weren’t going to die, but the crewman was tugging at his elbow and the words dried up in his mouth. He followed the crewman, leaving Ferris there amongst the cannons.  

Thorin was waiting for him at the bow of the ship. He was dressed for battle and positively bristling with weapons. The tri-cornered hat now sported several deep blue feathers that matched his greatcoat. Night had fallen, and only the barest sliver of orange peaked over the horizon. Only one of the lanterns on the deck was lit, casting dramatic shadows.  

“Navigator,” the captain started, but then he caught sight of the sword at Bilbo’s waist and his mouth dropped open in surprise.  

Bilbo fought down the smirk tugging at his lips and nodded at Thorin. “Captain.” He shifted, still getting used to the extra weight at his hip. Thorin seemed at a loss for words, and Bilbo slid his hands into his pockets while he waited. His hands brushed up against something metal – ah, it was the pistol. Carefully, he tugged it out of his pocket and turned to give it back to Thorin. “This belongs to you, I believe.” 

The sight of the gun seemed to bring Thorin back around. “Hm – no, keep it,” he said, pushing it back toward Bilbo.  

“You know I’m more likely to shoot myself-” 

“I insist.” 

“Alright, alright.” He waved away Thorin’s pressing hands and huffed as he fit the pistol on his belt next to his sword. “There. Now, how are we faring?” 

“We’ve come ‘round the island. I don’t want to become trapped in the lagoon if the  _Necromancer_ does follow us, so we’ll wait just above it.” He pointed off the starboard side, where the island loomed dark and tall above them. Bilbo could see where the sheer cliffs of this side of the island fell away to reveal a sheltered cove. He nodded, and Thorin continued, “I’ve sent a few men ashore – they’ll warn us if the  _Necromancer_  starts this way.”  

“And until then?” Bilbo said.  

Thorin shrugged. “We wait. If it weren’t night, I’d send the carpenters ashore to get what they could and then make a break for it. But…” He shrugged again and heaved a grumbling sigh.  

They stood in silence for a few moments. Once they reached what was apparently far enough away from the lagoon for Thorin, the captain called out, “Drop the sea anchor.” A heavy splash was soon heard from the rear of the ship, and not long after that, the  _Orcrist_ slowed to a halt. Thorin turned to Dwalin and gave him a nod.  

The quartermaster turned and growled at the nearest crewman, “Run out the guns – silently. Pass the word.” 

The crewman nodded and dashed off. Within minutes, the crew was pouring out onto the deck, each one barefoot and silent. Like a well-oiled machine, they loaded and primed the guns, all without speaking a word. Bilbo was impressed with how quiet the whole operation was – even the clanging of the cannonballs in the necks of the guns was muffled.  

Once each gun was loaded, the crew stood at attention. It took longer to prepare in the dark and without speaking to one another, but not too much longer. An eerie quiet settled over the deck once the guns were loaded. Only the waves against Amon Ereb’s cliffs and the wind murmuring through the rigging broke the silence.  

 _We wait,_  repeated Bilbo to himself, anxiety churning inside him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time no sea. I think I've made this pun before. Ignore me.
> 
> Yeah well here we are, back on track. Expect the next chapter literally tomorrow. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who continues to read, kudo, and comment. You guys are the cooliest.


	16. Shore Leave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the second chapter I've posted in a couple days, so if you missed Chapter 15, make sure you go back and read that first!

And wait they did. The moon rose and the stars winked brightly above them for hours. After the fourth hour of waiting, the crew began murmuring quietly amongst themselves, and not even a spine-chilling glare from Dwalin stopped them. Dori was sitting on the deck leaning against the helm when Thorin, Bilbo, and Gandalf moved aft. He yawned and gave a sloppy salute. Thorin grumbled quietly under his breath about ‘insubordinate mother hens’ and began to pace. Bilbo ignored Gandalf when the wizard tried to whisper to him and joined Dori on the floor.  

Another hour rolled by. 

And another. Bilbo was starting to worry Thorin might pace a hole straight through the deck.  

He must have eventually fallen asleep, because the next time he looked up, the sky was pink with morning sun.  

“Um,” he said quietly, glancing over at Dori, who was sound asleep. Gently, he nudged the helmsman in the knee. He jerked awake.  

“Nothing?” Dori whispered. Bilbo shrugged. Thorin wasn’t on the quarterdeck with them anymore. Dwalin was leaning against the mast, and Bilbo suspected that he, too, was asleep. Quietly, the merman stood up and shook the stiffness out of his limbs. There was no sign of the  _Necromancer_  – there was no sign of anything, really, other than the tired crew and the high cliffs of Amon Ereb.  

“Dwalin,” he hissed. 

The quartermaster instantly straightened and said, “I wasn’t asleep.” 

Bilbo turned his laughter into a quiet cough. “I never said you were. What’s going on?” 

Dwalin glanced around for a moment before looking straight up. “Thorin!” 

There was a breath of silence followed by the slide of cloth on rope. Thorin dropped to the deck from the rigging. “There’s been no sign of them.” 

“They continued following the current, then?” Dori asked.  

Thorin shook his head. His hat was gone, as was the greatcoat. The pistols and sword, however, were still present. “No, they never appeared, according to our watchmen.”  

“Surely they didn’t fall that far behind?” said Bilbo tentatively.  

“Nah,” said Dori. “A ship that big? They should have showed hours ago. Where’ve they gone?” 

“Damned if I know.” Thorin stalked to the stern railing, and braced himself against the wood. After a moment, he rapped his knuckles against the railing and turned back. “Rouse the crew. Set the livelier ones to watch positions and the send the rest to bed.” This he directed to Dwalin, who immediately moved away down to the main deck. “Find Bofur,” he continued, nodding at Dori, “and tell him to gather his carpenters. Tell them to get whatever they need, but make it  _fast_.”  

“Aye, sir,” Dori heaved off the helm and left the quarterdeck. Thorin took up his position in front of the wheel, but didn’t call out any further orders.  

Bilbo scratched nervously at the back of his neck. “And me?” he asked.  

“Hm? Oh – cut the sea anchor loose so we can move into this lagoon of yours.” Thorin pointed at the port railing where a thick rope was hanging taught over the side.  

Bilbo moved over to the railing and looked over the side. The rope ended wrapped around what looked like a heap of trash – wood, more rope, and torn scraps of sail. It bobbed heavily in the water. “Cut the whole thing loose? What does it do?” he asked as he slowly drew his sword from its scabbard.  

“Yes, the whole thing, Navigator.” Thorin sounded slightly exasperated, but when Bilbo glanced over his shoulder, the captain just nodded at him. “It keeps the ship relatively still. It also saves me from having to cut loose one of my expensive, fire-forged steel anchors if we need to make a quick escape.” A hint of a grin was on Thorin’s face. “Now, go on, cut us free with your new knife.” He began pulling at the wheel. 

Bilbo sputtered. “It’s not a – oh, sod off!” He turned his back on Thorin’s widening grin and began sawing at the rope. “Just because it’s not a ridiculously heavy broadsword made for – made for,” he retorted, sawing harder at the line, “for slashing and hacking, doesn’t mean it’s a  _knife_.” The rope split and fell into the sea.  

“You’ve been talking to that landsman of Nori’s, I see,” Thorin replied. He then shouted to the crew on deck, “Quarter sail!” As the sails began to furl – and unfurl, in some cases – the  _Orcrist_  slowly came about and moved closer to the island.  

A call came down from the rigging before Bilbo could get in his response. “Sandbar! Portside!”  

As Thorin adjusted the ship’s course, Bilbo stepped up beside him. He sheathed his sword with a sharp  _click_. “And if I have?” He gave Thorin a challenging look when the captain glanced down at him.  

Thorin only quirked one dark eyebrow at him.  

“He’s teaching me!” 

Thorin hummed and nodded, single eyebrow still raised.  

“Well, no one else offered, and I wasn’t about to go to what could potentially have been my death without putting up some sort of a fight. One pistol can only get me so far, you know.”  

A snort of laughter escaped the captain, but he quickly made a valiant attempt to turn it into a cough. “No, no you’re right. It’s good – good that you, ah, that he’s teaching you.” 

Bilbo rolled his eyes skyward and made an annoyed sound. “You people.”  

The ship was slowly entering the lagoon. “Us people?” Thorin asked curiously as he spun the wheel slightly to avoid the cliffs. The cove was large enough to house at least half a dozen ships with room to spare. Bilbo sighed appreciatively, annoyance forgotten for the moment, at the sight of crystalline blue water. A few rocky spots on the seabed were bristling with colorful coral, and he could see several schools of fish darting about. The sand was a smooth, pale cream crescent around the curve of the beach until it met the jungle beyond. Waves rolled lazily up and down the shore.  

Thorin guided the ship to the side of the cove and called for an all stop. The true anchor was dropped, sending fish scurrying for cover. As soon as the ship was still, crewmen began piling into the small boats that were being lowered over the side. Bofur led the group of carpenters in the first boat; they all looked eager to reach the shore. Those left onboard watched jealously as the carpenters rowed ashore and leapt out onto the sand.  

“A right lovely spot this is, Captain!” Bofur called out. The crew on the  _Orcrist_ groaned.  

Thorin leaned over the railing. “Make haste, Master Carpenter, or I might be tempted to leave you behind!” He turned back as Bofur and his fellow carpenters went tearing off in to the trees, each man laden down with supplies and axes. “The rest of you – keep the portside guns primed. I want two men to a gun at all times. Where are my lookouts?” A few voices called out from the rigging, and Thorin yelled up to them, “Get to those cliffs. Get in contact with the others already on watch for the  _Necromancer._  Report back at each bell.”  

A chorus of ‘aye, aye, Captain’ rang out, and the crew scattered to obey Thorin’s orders.  

Just as he started down the steps to the main deck, the captain turned back. “Get some rest while you can, Navigator.” When Bilbo started to protest, he spoke over him, “That’s an  _order_. You’re no good to me half-asleep.”  

Bilbo gave him a Look, but the effect was rather spoiled by the large yawn that overcame him. Thorin smirked, so Bilbo automatically retorted, “I didn’t realize I was any good to you at all, Captain.” And without waiting for a reply to  _that_ , he passed Thorin on the steps and ducked into the hold.  

He was tired, he told himself as he dodged crewmen coming up the corridor. That’s why he snapped at Thorin – just tired. He’s plenty helpful to this ship, even if he doesn’t know where they’re going. Plenty helpful. Not that he desires recognition – no, no, that’d be rather unrespectable of him. His father would pinch his tail if he were here.  

Something ugly reared up in his mind, something decidedly shark-shaped, and whispered,  _But he’s not here, is he?_  

Quickly, he snapped himself straight out of that sort of thinking and pushed open the door to his cabin. The boys, all three of them, were inside, and they each shot to their feet when Bilbo came in. 

“Mr. Bilbo!” they cried. Kíli launched himself forward and clung to Bilbo, grinning and asking too many questions to comprehend.  

“Slow down, please, Kíli!” he laughed, detaching the boy’s arms from around his neck.  

Fíli grabbed his brother and pulled him bodily away from Bilbo. “Any news?” he asked Bilbo around his brother’s struggling arms.  

“The watchers your uncle sent out haven’t seen a thing all night.” 

“Nothing?” 

Bilbo shrugged. “We don’t know where the  _Necromancer_ ’s disappeared to, but as of now, we’re waiting on the carpenters to get their wood.” 

“Boring,” sighed Kíli, going limp in his brother’s hold. Fíli immediately dropped him to the floor. “ _Ouch_. Can’t we go ashore, too?” he asked from the floor. Ori perked up at the question.  

“Ah… Probably not?” hedged Bilbo. “Only the lookouts and the carpenters have gone. I doubt Thorin would want to risk another ship coming upon us with half the crew on the beach. Until we know for certain what’s become of the  _Necromancer_ , we’ll be staying here, I imagine.” 

“Did  _specifically_  say we weren’t allowed off the ship?” 

“Well, no-” 

“Then we’re off. ‘scuse us, Mr. Bilbo.” Kíli slipped around Bilbo, followed closely by his exasperated brother.  

“Wait! Kíli! Oh, blast,” huffed Bilbo as the two boys dashed up the corridor. He turned back to Ori. “I suppose there’s no stopping them?” 

The young man laughed. “The captain will grab them before Kíli can fling himself over the railing… probably. Don’t worry yourself over it, Bilbo. Ah, did you need help with something?”  

“Hm? Oh, no, I was just – I came to finish up my maps, but I don’t see… oh,  _damn_.” 

“What? Where’s your bag?” Ori began checking beneath the cots.  

Bilbo motioned for him to stop. “It’s fine, I just – well, actually Thorin took the bag and  _tossed_  it into his desk drawer when the  _Necromancer_  was first sighted.” 

“So?” Ori looked at him curiously. “Just go and fetch it. Or ask him for it. I thought the two of you were on the mend, so to speak?” 

“Are we? I suppose so, yes, but I don’t – sea gods, Ori, I don’t know. Not too long ago we were  _literally_  at each other’s throats, and now he’s asking me about  _islands_  and telling me about  _Erebor_ , and I go pouring out my parents’  _death_  and – and I suddenly don’t want to go home all the time, Ori, I want to stay and help, and-” 

“And that scares you,” interrupts Ori matter-of-factly.  

“It what? No, it doesn’t!”  

“Yes, it does. Trust me. Nori did this once, before he became the Thief.” Ori made Bilbo sit on the cot opposite him. “You’re very secretive, you know. Not a one of us, except Gandalf, I guess, knows anything about you. You’ve got some weird habits, sure, and sometimes you say things the rest of us don’t really understand, but you keep to yourself. And now that you’ve started to share a little bit of yourself, you’re panicking,” he leaned over a tapped Bilbo on the forehead, “up here.” 

Bilbo crossed his eyes trying to watch Ori’s finger. “You’re too smart for your own good, you know that?” he grumbled. The younger man sat back and laughed. “I’m not scared,” Bilbo continued, “really, I’m not. I think I wanted to leave at the beginning because no one thought I could help.” He sighed and carded his fingers through his hair roughly. “And now, well, I haven’t slept, and Thorin said something about me being useless to him if I was tired, so I snapped at him.” 

“ _Again_ ,” muttered Ori, dodging Bilbo’s swift kick. 

“Yes,  _again_. He’s very good at setting me off. Ugh. There was something your brother – Dori, not Nori – said the other day about Thorin, that I had seen more of the captain at his worst than at his best. I don’t know. I have no idea why it all bothers me, really. Perhaps I really am too tired to function.” He laughed, but Ori didn’t join in. Instead, the scribe only watched him with an odd expression on his face. “What?” 

Quickly, Ori shook his head. “Nothing! Just, you know. Nothing. You’re right. About the sleep. I mean, the lack of – sleep. That’s probably, definitely what’s wrong. I’ll, uh, leave you alone so you can nap? And come back in a few hours? Okay, great!” Before Bilbo could stop him, Ori darted out the door and snatched it closed behind him.  

“…what in sweet Yavanna’s name is going  _on_?” 

 

He did eventually get some sleep, and, gracious, his  _dreams_. Strange. There was the vaguest memory of seeing himself dragging someone down to the deeps, and then a different image of himself as a land-walker while the rest of the crew were the merfolk. He shuddered.  _Strange._ That’s what he got for letting Ori scrutinize him like that, he supposed.  

The sun was directly overhead when he emerged topside, and the sunny warmth quickly chased away the lingering effects of the dreams. Bilbo once again took a moment to admire the clarity of the water around them. Oh, he would bet a handful of his shiniest scales that this cove tasted nearly as sweet and clean as the Shire. Too bad he probably wouldn’t get to – 

“Navigator! Just the fledgling swordfish I wanted t’see.”  

He looked up to find Ferris leaning against he railing a few feet down from him. “Swordfish? Really?” he said flatly.  

“Clever, ain’t it?” Ferris grinned. “Come on, we haven’t died yet, so I figured I’d teach you a few more things.” 

Bilbo paused, his hand falling to the hilt of his smallsword. “Oh, um, really?”  

“Yeah,  _really_.” The land-walker drew his rapier and thwacked the flat of the blade against Bilbo’s arm. “Come on. Show me what we did earlier. Quicker!”  

“Yavanna’s lovely reef, alright, alright. We’re, ah, doing this out here? In the open? Where everyone can see?” 

Ferris flicked the point of the rapier close to his face, and if Bilbo had not lunged backwards, he would have been scratched. “And I suppose you think an enemy will be courteous enough to fight you in a room by yourselves? Basic defense, Navigator, or I’ll thrash you within an inch of your secret life.”  

Bilbo threw his arm up, his smallsword clanging against the rapier. “Aren’t you afraid we’ll hurt each other?” 

“Good! Again! – Hurt each other? Mahal, I hope so – And again! Move your feet, or I’ll put you on your arse. I told Nori and the others you were built to fence. Don’t make me lose a bet.” Ferris pushed Bilbo down the length of the main deck. When Bilbo forgot to keep moving, the land-walker hooked his foot around the back of Bilbo’s knee and tipped him over.  

He landed with a grunt, the smallsword clattering to the deck beside him. When he started to sit up, he found himself nose-to-point with Ferris’ rapier.  

“Dead,” the land-walker said in a singsong voice. “Get up. Do it again.” He withdrew his blade in a flash of silver and kicked Bilbo’s smallsword back toward him.  

A growl tickled the back of Bilbo’s throat, and he bared his teeth at Ferris. “This is your revenge, isn’t it?”  

“Maybe. Pick up your sword.” 

“I’ve half a mind to just throw you over the side again.” 

“Sword up! Attack me!”  

Bilbo groaned in response, but lunged at the land-walker all the same. Ferris easily deflected his attacks, but eventually the merman started getting a feel for the rhythm of the … the  _duel_ , or lesson, or whatever this was.  

They quickly attracted a crowd of onlookers. Their attention caused Bilbo to falter more than once, and Ferris was quick to pounce upon any moment of weakness.  

“Dead!” he’d call out when Bilbo failed to deflect (or at least attempt to deflect) a lunge or slash. “Very dead.  _Extremely_ dead.”  

The third time Ferris dumped Bilbo on his ass, he said slyly, “I think you’ve forgotten you have  _legs_ , Navigator.” 

An angry sound left Bilbo’s throat, and he jumped upright. Without pausing, he lunged at the land-walker, but, instead of following through with the move, shifted  _hard_  to the left and brought his sword down on Ferris’ hip. Just before the blow landed, Ferris dodged and let the strike deflect off the flat of his rapier.  

“Better! The key is  _movement_. Do it again.” 

Ferris came at him again, and this time, instead of retreating, Bilbo pushed forward. Their swords locked at the hilts. The edge of the rapier scraped against Bilbo’s jaw; he ignored the sting and pitched his weight forward. Ferris was trying to trip him up and push back at the same time. They were well matched in weight, but Ferris was obviously the better swordsman; the land-walker gave a particularly crafty twist of his wrist and elbow, and Bilbo’s sword was flipped out of his grasp. Suddenly weaponless, he faltered – but only for a moment.  

He let Ferris set up to trip him as he had the previous times. Just as the land-walker started to tug with his foot, Bilbo wrapped both arms around his neck and  _dropped_. Ferris squawked indignantly. Twisting, Bilbo let muscle memory take over, and he threw himself and Ferris to the deck. It was rather like grappling with one of those giant tunas, a distant part of his mind noticed. Using his hips, he rolled them a few times until Ferris let go of his rapier. They ended up with Bilbo beneath the land-walker, his arms around Ferris’ throat and his legs wrapped tight around his waist to keep him from escaping.  

“This is easier with a tail,” he hissed lowly so only Ferris could hear, his voice full of dangerous glee. “With a tail, I _pull_  a bit…” He tightened his legs and stretched his body a bit. “And the spine just comes apart.” 

Ferris wheezed, his eyes bulging and his face white with fear. Bilbo held him for a few more seconds before letting go. The land-walker slid off of him, heaving, and scrambled for his rapier. Calmly, Bilbo stood up, toed the rapier out of reach, and pointed his own recovered sword down at Ferris. “Dead, I think.” 

Hot fury lit Ferris’ eyes for an instant, but he abruptly dissolved into choked laughter. He swatted Bilbo’s sword out of his face and stood shakily. “What the ever lovin’  _fuck_ , Navigator?”  

“Too much?” Bilbo asked, sheathing his sword. He glanced around at the gaping crew and scratched nervously at the back of his head.  

Ferris coughed, “A bit, yeah. You nearly throttled me. Where in Mahal’s name did you learn – actually, no, let me guess: ‘at sea.’” He picked up his rapier.  

“Well, technically, yes.”  

“Incredible. You’re still shit with the sword, though.” 

“What?! I just beat you!” 

“You cheated.” 

“But I still  _won_!” 

Ferris wheezed and laughed some more. Bilbo opened his mouth to continue, but Fíli and Kíli ran out from the gathered crowd shouting his name.  

“Mahal’s  _balls_ , Mr. Bilbo! That was  _terrifying_ ,” Kíli told him.  

Fíli elbowed his brother. “Watch your language. Mr. Bilbo, you gotta teach me how to do that. I can help you with your sword if you like?” He looked up at Bilbo with pleading eyes.  

“Ah, maybe?” 

“Excellent!” 

“Oh, that’s not fair,” Kíli said. “Mr. Bilbo, you should come ashore with us! You can show  _both_  of us how to do that super intense roll of death on the beach.” He tugged at Bilbo’s elbow, pulling him toward the starboard railing.  

Bilbo dug in his heels and leaned back until the boy had either stop pulling or fall over. “Hold on – since when were we allowed to leave the ship, hm?”  

“Since lunch, of course. The lookouts still haven’t seen anything, so Uncle said a few could go at the time. We get to go in a little while. Come with us?”  

They stopped at the railing, and the boys showed him the small group of sailors clustered on the beach. Some were standing around, others stretched out on the sand, and the rest in the water with nets.  

“Are they fishing?” Bilbo asked. Almost as if in reply, one of the crewmen threw his net, went after it, and came up with a few small fish. “Well. He’ll never catch much like  _that_.”  

The sight of the fish and the mention of lunch reminded him that he hadn’t eaten since yesterday, and his stomach gurgled hopefully. The water looked so inviting it was almost sickening. The sweat rolling down his neck and making his shirt stick to his skin wasn’t helping.  

“You, ah,” he started, glancing around in search of the captain, “you’re sure we’re allowed to get off the ship?”  

Fíli nodded. “Only fifteen are allowed on the shore at a time. So whenever their time is up, we get to go.”  

“And what if… what if I’m not on the shore.” 

“…where else would you go, Mr. Bilbo?” Fíli gave him a look out of the corner of his eyes.  

Bilbo nodded down at the water. “Swimming. It’s not technically on the beach.” 

“Well, I mean, I guess that’s fine-” 

Bilbo was already pulling off his boots and unbuckling his sword. The shirt went next. Then, he boosted himself up onto the railing.  

“I’ll only be a few minutes,” he told the boys, and swung his legs over and dropped into the cove.  

He had been right, earlier, when he bet himself that the water would be clean and sweet. His gills fluttered greedily, and he breathed in great mouthfuls of the wonderful stuff. Fish scattered below him, their bright scales catching his eye. His stomach grumbled again, and he twisted and swam deeper. Figuring out how to swim properly with two legs instead of tail took a few moments, but once he had the movement down, he darted beneath the  _Orcrist_  after a school of fish.  

He wasn’t as fast without his tail, unfortunately, so he only managed to grab one of the weaker fish. Ah, well, fish was fish, at this point. He smacked it against the keel of the ship, snapping its spine. It may have been an old, weak fish, but it still tasted marvelous.  

The boys shouted loudly when he resurfaced. Kíli’s shout turned into a strangled scream when he spotted the half-eaten fish in Bilbo’s hand, so he quickly hid it behind his back. Others were looking over the railing, too, now, so Bilbo sheepishly sank lower in the water until only his head was above the surface.  

“You were under for five whole  _minutes_ , Mr. Bilbo!” Fíli called down to him.  

Bilbo coughed up water and took a deep, dry breath. “…was I?” 

Five minutes, apparently, was far longer than the average land-walker was able to hold their breath.  _Stupid_ , he scolded himself. He’d have to be more careful in the water.  _Damn._  He cursed his inattention as he cut through the water toward the nearest rocky outcropping. He bobbed back to the surface for appearance’s sake.  

The rock was on the edge of a sandbar, half submerged, with tiny sprouts of coral around its base. It was relatively smooth on top, so Bilbo climbed up and sat, legs splayed out in front of him and his freshly caught lunch next him. The sun-warmed stone felt  _marvelous_. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back; when he cracked upon his eyes again to finish eating, he scowled at his ugly, pale feet. His tale was long overdue for a proper sunning – his poor scales would probably be mostly green by now, without a single splash of sun-bleached gold. He bit into the fish angrily, alternating between glaring at the ring and his feet. For a moment he considered what might happen if he just took off the ring right here in full daylight.  

The crewmen on the ship would probably notice the change first, and Thorin would come charging out of his cabin, thinking they were under attack or something, and then someone would freak out and probably shoot Bilbo.  _Best case scenario_ , he thought to himself,  _they don’t kill me, just chain me up and … sell me?_ He frowned. The last bits of fish in his hand suddenly didn’t seem very appetizing. He wasn’t exactly sure whom he could be sold to, or where, but his people did disappear occasionally, captured by fishermen and never seen again. The edges of the ring dug into his finger when he clenched his fist.  

When he looked back over at the ship, he saw Thorin standing at the railing. The captain had his arms crossed over his chest and an unreadable look on his face. Probably irritation. Bilbo sighed, flung the fish remains off the rock, and rolled into the water after them.  

He stayed along the bottom, using his hands to pull himself along. After counting to two hundred – a hopefully more acceptable number than five minutes – he darted to the surface. Thorin was still watching him, but the next time Bilbo resurfaced, the captain was gone.  

 

The carpenters returned the next morning bearing long logs and planks of wood. They dropped their loads on the beach, and half of them went back into the jungle. Bilbo watched them go from his seat on the quarterdeck. Thorin hadn’t said a word to him about his swim, but he had a feeling it hadn’t been well received.  

In retrospect, it was a stupid moment of indulgence. Any number of things could have gone wrong – the  _Necromancer_ appearing being the least of those – and horrifying images of the ring slipping from his finger accidentally flashed through his mind.  

The lookouts still had not spotted the large, dark ship on the horizon, and since over 24 hours had passed since they came to the island, Thorin removed his shore leave restrictions. Half the crew now lounged about on the sand. A large bonfire crackled merrily in their midst.  

Bilbo, however, had no desire to set foot on the sand. One time on land was more than enough for him, thank you very much. Instead, he had decided to spend the day finishing the last of the maps. Of course, the maps were still in Thorin’s cabin.  

“Get a grip,” he murmured to himself as he descended to the main deck and stopped in front of the captain’s cabin door. He knocked before he could talk himself out of it, but no one answered. He tried again, hammering his fist against the door this time. Still nothing. Cursing to himself under his breath, Bilbo tried the handle, only to find it locked. He thumped his head twice against he wood before turning away. He called out hesitantly to the ship at large, “Um, Captain?”  

A few nearby sailors looked up at the sound of his voice, but there was no reply from Thorin.  

“Has anyone – oh.” He crossed the deck to the railing. Thorin was on the beach, of course. When had he left the ship? He was weaving in and out of the crowd of sailors, clearly looking for someone. After another moment of searching, he cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, “Navigator!”  

Oh. Bilbo leaned out over the railing and raised his arm. “Here!” 

Thorin jerked around to face the ship. He held up something, and Bilbo realized it was his satchel of maps. Of course. “What the blazes are you doing still on the ship? Get to shore, we’ve got work to do!” He turned away and said something to the men in charge of rowing the small boats back and forth from the ship to the shore. One of them started to row back toward the ship. 

Something inside Bilbo that clashed horribly with his sense of self-preservation took over suddenly, and he felt a fey grin tugging at his lips. Sending a  _boat_  to fetch one of the murúch? Ha! If he was going to be on land, he certainly wasn’t about to be transported there by a  _boat_. With a scornful laugh, he vaulted over the railing and dove neatly into the lagoon. The water was just as warm and clean as the day before, and he laughed aloud as he pushed off the sandy bottom.  

Fish scattered in a rainbow of colors before him. The scabbard of his sword banged against his legs a few times, but he ignored it. He swam as close to the shore as he could before it became too shallow. The rolls and corkscrews he executed right before surfacing were definitely not for show, oh no.  

He coughed up the excess water and breathed heavily as he pushed his hair out of his face. The waves lapped at his knees, and he laughed ruefully when he realized he would have to dump water out of his boots.  

“I was going to send the boat for you,” someone said nearby. He looked up, still grinning, to find Thorin standing on the sand in front of him. The captain looked him up and down briefly, taking in his soaked appearance before sighing. There was a slight tilt to one corner of his mouth, though, so Bilbo smiled even wider.  

“Like I’ve said, I’m a fair swimmer.” 

“Yes, so I’ve heard,” replied Thorin. “And now you’re soaking wet, so don’t complain to me while we’re tramping through the jungle.” 

Bilbo froze halfway through pouring water out of his boots. “Excuse me?” 

“I want to get to the top of the island.” Thorin pointed to the large hill that made up the majority of Amon Ereb.  

“And do  _what_ , exactly?” asked Bilbo, disgust evident in his voice. He was absolutely regretting jumping in the water. The sand was far enough for him. “You go ahead. Take the maps.” He flapped a hand at Thorin encouragingly.  

The captain rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath.  

“Oh, are we doing this again? Throwing insults in our own languages?” Bilbo said. “Because  _mé cleachtadh_ -” 

“Mahal’s bloody hammer, Navigator. No, we aren’t ‘doing that again.’ What language  _is_  that?” He watched Bilbo struggle to get his boots back on. 

“ _My_  language. Murúchis.” He instantly slapped a hand over his mouth. What had he just done?! Frozen in place, he waited for Thorin’s reaction.  

“It is a secret language, then? Mine, ah, ours,” he gestured vaguely at the crew, “is as well. Khuzdul.” The word was deep and gravely in Thorin’s mouth. “Do not trouble yourself, Navigator. You may keep your secrets.”  

Bilbo smothered the hysterical laughter that threatened to escape him. “Thank you,” he managed to choke out.  

The captain’s forehead creased and his eyebrows drew together for a moment. Then, he snorted and began walking toward the tree line. “Come along, Navigator. Nori, you too. You’ve got sharp eyes.” Without waiting for either of them, Thorin walked straight into the jungle.  

Nori jumped up from his languid sprawl on the sand and dusted himself off. “Duty calls,” he said, picking up his coat and various weapons. He, too, vanished into the trees.  

Not five full seconds passed before Thorin shouted from up ahead, “Navigator! Let’s  _go_!”  

Bilbo let out a helpless sound and trotted up the beach after the land-walkers. Leaves and ferns brushed against him as he fought his way through the trees. He tripped over everything – roots, fallen branches, his own feet – and was covered in debris by the time he caught up with the captain and Nori. The russet haired land-walker laughed at his appearance, though he did make an effort to turn the laughter into a coughing fit. Bilbo bared his teeth at Nori in reply.  

More than once, Thorin had to use his sword to hack at the thick foliage that blocked their path. Bilbo glared darkly at the plants around them; at least kelp forests had the decency to flow with the current. The merman’s legs ached by the time the trees thinned out to reveal the rocky summit of the island.  

The captain immediately strode to the edge of the cliff that jutted out from the peak. Nori followed a few steps behind, but Bilbo loitered at the edge of the trees. Something didn’t feel right. He couldn’t figure out  _what_  exactly felt wrong – but something did.  

“Navigator!” Thorin’s call brought Bilbo out of his reverie. He shook his head and trotted up to the cliff.  

The view literally stole Bilbo’s breath. It seemed as if the entire world stretched out before them; the sea glittered in the sun from horizon to horizon, and the sky was an endless expanse of pure blue above their heads. The merman swore reverently under his breath.  

“Aye,” the captain said. “It’s quite the sight, this world we have.”  

Nori nodded and pointed below them. “There’s our lovely lady.” The  _Orcrist_  looked even more bizarre from this angle. Bilbo could see the small forms of the crew moving about on the deck; the shore was hidden from sight by the trees, but occasionally the breeze brought an echo of voices up to the cliff.  

Thorin made a low, disappointed sound. “The flags are in tatters. And the moonrakers look like shit.” 

“But she’s still our lovely lady.” 

“Aye. That she is.” 

They both hummed appreciatively, and Bilbo rolled his eyes behind their backs. What makes a ship lovely? It’s just a ship – just wood and metal and cloth? These land-walkers and their actions confounded him on a daily basis.  

“What, ah,” he began, propping one hand on the hilt of his sword and gesturing with the other at Thorin, “what do we need the maps for up here?”  

Thorin hefted the satchel. “I need a map of the entirety of Beleriand – North, South, East and West.” He passed the bag to Bilbo, who clutched it protectively. It was a little more scuffed than he remembered, but the maps inside were still intact.  

“ _All_  of Beleriand?” Bilbo set the bag on one of the many waist-high boulders nearby and began picking through it. “I think so… you took my refinished East Beleriand, didn’t you?”  

Thorin pulled the map in question out of one of his pockets and passed it over as well. It was gently spread out on top of the rock, and the corners were anchored down against the breeze.  

“Let’s see… Belfalas, Forochel… Here’s an ancient one of South Beleriand, though it’s in wretched condition.” Bilbo handed the age-softened parchment to Nori, and the land-walker opened it next to the map of the East. “And there’s the North – oh, wait, here’s the full one.” He hauls the huge rolled up map out of the bag and hands it to Thorin. This map gets spread out over the others; it’s massive, and its corners draped off the side of the rock. Bilbo hadn’t had much of a chance to go over it, instead choosing to work on the smaller, more detailed maps.  

Thorin bent low over it, shouldering Nori out of the way. The redhead huffed good-naturedly and sauntered off to the cliff’s edge.  

“What are you looking for?” Bilbo asked, trying to get a glimpse at the section the captain was currently staring at.  

The wind picked up, pulling a few of the corners free from the weights, and Bilbo and Thorin scrambled to weigh the map back down. Bilbo grabbed whatever heavy objects he could get his hands on. A sharp intake of breath came from beside him, and he turned to look questioningly at Thorin. His face was a curious shade of grey.  

“You’ve cocked it,” the captain said, nodding at the object in Bilbo’s hand. Looking down, Bilbo yelped and forced his fingers to relax around the trigger of the pistol Thorin had given him. He must have pulled it from his pocket in the rush to secure the map. 

“How in the - ?!” he hissed, slowly turning the barrel away from his torso and setting the weapon down on the table. “Why in Eru’s name would I grab  _this_ of all things? Oh, and it’s still primed. How wonderful. Yes, please, take it, by all means.”  

Thorin immediately reached over and grabbed the gun, emptying the pan of its powder before stuffing the pistol into the waistband at the front of his trousers.  

Bilbo continued, “I’m not entirely sure that’s a safe location to store a loaded weapon, but, as I’m no expert, you may of course overlook my suggestions.”  

Thorin glared at Bilbo even as he yanked the gun out of his trousers and deposited it back on the rock. “It’s only half-cocked,” he said, “and I dumped the powder.” 

“I suppose it’s fortunate that flintlock pistols are so reliable, then?” Bilbo replied, pointedly tilting the burned side of his face toward Thorin. The flash of regret in the captain’s eyes was oddly not very satisfying, and Bilbo quickly turned back to the map, one hand coming up to graze the raised marks on his temple. “Um. So, what are we looking for?”  

Thorin clenched his jaw for a moment before turning back to the map. He stepped even closer, his elbow and hip brushing against Bilbo. “So, we crossed the Luin here,” he traced the pass with one finger, “and Amon Ereb is… here?” The finger tapped at a tiny island to the left. Bilbo suppressed a sigh.  

“More like…” He reached across Thorin and touched the correct island. This map wasn’t labeled as well as the others, and many of the names had faded with time. “Here. I’ve never ventured further west than Ereb, however, so I cannot say much of what lies beyond us.” He had never ventured beyond the Luin, in truth, but what Thorin didn’t know about that wouldn’t hurt him. “My knowledge of West Beleriand is nothing more than stories and myths.” The truth, if a frightening one.  

“Tales and songs will have to suffice,” Thorin replied absently. His eyes were locked on the map. Suddenly, he leaned further over the parchment, his hands coming up to frame one portion. “Do you have a detail of this area?” He jabbed one finger into the map, his eyes wide as he looked hopefully at Bilbo.  

“Um – maybe? Where are you pointing? Oh, yes, I think so.” 

“Find it!” 

“Alright, I’m looking! Get out of the way.” He pushed past the captain, peering at the labels on each of the rolled maps still in the bag. “Hmm, no, no… Where is it…”  

“Do you have it?” 

“What is so important about that island?”  

“Just find the map!” 

“If you would stop breathing down my neck, maybe I  _could!_ ” Bilbo snapped, before pulling out the correct map. “Here – hey!”  

Thorin snatched the parchment out of his hands, tore off the length of twine, and roughly forced the map open. Bilbo’s indignant cry of “Be careful!” went unheeded.  

“What is the matter with you?” the merman asked, watching Thorin stare at the map.  

“ _Nulukkizdîn,”_ Thorin rasped.  

“I beg your pardon?” 

He repeated the word, then followed it with, “Nargothrond. This island is Nargothrond.” 

“…yes, it is? Thorin, I don’t understand-” 

Without speaking, Thorin reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of parchment. It was weathered and discolored, the edges frayed. Carefully, the captain unfolded it to reveal a map – a map nearly identical to the one Bilbo had drawn. Runes framed the map and were scattered over the contours of the island, faded and smudged with age. A large, eight-pointed star was drawn in the cove on the southern side of the island.  

“What is this?” Bilbo asked, tilting his head for a better view. “Why do you have this?” 

Thorin ignored the questions in favor of asking one of his own, “What do you know of the island of Nargothrond?” He spread his map out beside Bilbo’s, the latter considerably less detailed than the former.  

“I – well, nothing, really. Only myths, fairy stories that my mother told me when I was a child.”  

“What do you know?” 

Bilbo frowned and huffed before crossing his arms over his chest. “Nargothrond itself is practically a myth, an ancient island kingdom supposedly built within the rock – tunnels, great halls, and such, all winding beneath the surface. A few tales describe caverns filled to bursting with gold and gems. All of those stories end in war and the collapse of the entire kingdom into the sea.” 

“The whole island?” Thorin interrupted. 

“According to those stories, yes.” 

“And are there… other stories?” 

Bilbo met Thorin’s gaze, searching for an answer to the captain’s sudden obsessive behavior. Thorin looked away.  

“There are always other stories, Captain. But first, you will tell me why this is so important.”  

Thorin was silent, his hands smoothing out the creases in his map. He seemed lost in thought for a moment. When Bilbo glanced around them, he saw that Nori had moved even further away and was looking through a spyglass at the ocean.  

“Do you know who I am, Navigator?” The captain was twisting one of the rings on his fingers ‘round and ‘round as he spoke.  

Bilbo shook his head in confusion. “You’re Thorin Oakenshield, captain of the  _Orcrist_? I still have no idea wha-” 

“No, Navigator. Do you know  _who_ I am?” 

It was Bilbo’s turn to look away. He wasn’t supposed to know, but he knew, of course he knew. “You – you’re Thorin, son of Thráin, son of Thrór, Prince-in-Exile.” 

Thorin winced at ‘exile.’ “Yes.” 

“And what does an ancient map of Nargothrond have to do with your lineage?”  

“When Azog launched his assault on Erebor, he burned nearly every vessel in our harbor. The king, my father, and I, each took a ship and fought our way out of the bay. Out of the entire Ereborian Armada, only our three ships remained. Dozens of the most advanced vessels of war, burned to cinders and drowned in our own port.” He shook his head angrily before continuing, “We regrouped and repaired our remaining vessels – the  _Orcrist,_ the  _Moria,_ and the  _Azanulbizar_ - as best we could. The king was…” Here he stopped, his eyes fixed on the maps and his hands clenched into fists.  

Bilbo waited, silent and still.  

After several minutes, Thorin took a deep breath. He pushed away from the maps and began to pace. “You must understand,” he said, pausing for a moment to look Bilbo in the eye, “for many years prior to the attack, the king’s mental health – he was-” Words failed him once again.  

“He was ill,” said Bilbo quietly.  

Thorin resumed pacing and sighed explosively, “Yes. He – there was nothing to be done for it. He grew obsessed with the finances of Erebor and spent his days wandering in and out of the great vaults. Eventually, he began requesting old maps and books of legends from the Royal Library, and, in secret, launching expeditions to search for fabled sources of wealth. Some of the ships returned, but most did not.” 

Two weeks after our escape from Erebor, he sailed away in the dead of night, and I have not seen him since. A month of searching yielded nothing, and, then, out of nowhere, a raven arrived with a letter. It was addressed to me. The king was going west, he wrote, into uncharted waters, in search of the key to reclaiming our kingdom. Included with the letter was this map. Until now, I had no hope of knowing where the map led.” He halted his pacing on the far side of the boulder and gave Bilbo a significant look.  

“So, we go to Nargothrond?” the merman asked, dropping his gaze from Thorin’s and bending over the two maps. 

“Yes. With luck, we will find the king there.” 

“And – what was it? – the key to reclaiming the throne?” Bilbo tapped the eight-pointed star on Thorin’s map with one finger. “Is it a weapon, then?” He suppressed a shudder. “Or something else?” 

Thorin kicked at a fist-sized rock on the ground and carded a hand through his hair. “I care not. The goal of this quest is to retrieve the king and return to my father. And… if there is something worth taking back with us on that island, well… we shall see.” He nodded at the older map. “Do you see the runes along the edge?”  

Bilbo hummed an affirmative. 

“It is an ancient language, one that I cannot read. I presume it tells the reader exactly what the key is and where to find it, but I do not know for sure.” 

Humming once more, Bilbo turned the map on its side in order to see the runes along that edge. “Is there anyone that can read it?” he asked absently, peering closely at the runes.  

Thorin’s silence was answer enough.  

“You know,” Bilbo mused, half to himself, “that one looks a bit like… hm…” He waved a hand vaguely in Thorin’s direction. “Hand me the pen in my bag, would you?” 

There was no reply, and when Bilbo looked back up, the captain was standing stock still, staring intently into the forest. When the merman started to ask what was wrong, Thorin held up a silencing hand.  

The feeling of unease Bilbo felt earlier returned with full force. Silently, he straightened and turned to look in the same direction as Thorin. He could see Nori out of the corner of his eye; the other land-walker was coming their way, his hands on the knives at his hips.  

Abruptly, Thorin hissed, “Nori, take the maps.” Slowly, he eased his sword from the scabbard. Bilbo hastened to follow suit. The other land-walker darted forward, scooped up the maps of Beleriand and Nargothrond, and hid them away in his numerous pockets.  

“What’s wrong?” Bilbo murmured.  

There was a loud snap from within the forest, followed by the abrupt flight of screeching birds. Nori went so still that Bilbo worried he had ceased breathing. With the barest creaking of leather, Thorin shifted close to the merman, and without taking his eyes off the tree line, started to say, “We’re being watched.” 

He had barely gotten the first word out before three massive land-walkers stepped from the shadows of the forest. Each was heavily armed – one had a heavy cutlass, another an axe, and the last hefted a wooden club studded with what looked like nails. Fear shot through Bilbo’s veins like ice, and he subconsciously shifted backwards just as Thorin stepped forward, sword held easily in one hand. Bilbo’s own thin blade wavered and dropped toward the ground. 

“Well, well, well,” the largest of the three new land-walkers said. His voice was deep and oily, and he swung his axe back and forth a few times. “What do we have here?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, etc. 
> 
> durinsheir.tumblr.com


	17. The Black Captain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> recap: Bilbo, Thorin, and Nori are at the top of the hill on Amon Ereb looking at the maps. Thorin sees a map that he recognizes and reveals the true meaning of his quest to Bilbo. They are interrupted by three unsavory characters.

The call came from within the forest, faint and muffled. Several sailors rose to their feet with their hands on the hilts of their swords or wrapped around the butts of pistols. At a nod from Dwalin, a few of the crew took up protective positions around Fíli and Kíli. The shouting came again, and this time, the quartermaster answered.

“Who goes there?”

There was a flash of red amongst the green and brown. “ _Move!_ ” The voice was distinct now. Nori came flying from the tree line, knives in both hands and a streak of blood on his brow. He stumbled to a halt in front of Dwalin in a spray of sand. He heaved in a breath and waved a knife at the forest behind him.

“Boats – now, to the ship,” he wheezed. “To arms, to - to, to whatever you call it.”

“Where’s Thorin?”

“Didn’t you hear me? We’ve got to _go_ , quartermaster.”

Bofur and a few of the others were slowly starting to load the rowboats.

Dwalin grabbed Nori’s shoulder in one huge, crushing fist. “And I asked you a question, Thief: where is the captain?”

Nori hesitated, eyes darting to the crew and back over his shoulder. The blood on his forehead wasn’t his own; there’s no cut or gash hidden by his hair. Bofur could see the urge to flee in the set of his partner’s shoulders, the way his weight was pitched forward, knees bent, ready to _go_.

“It’s the _Necromancer_ ,” he said, his voice pitched low so that only Dwalin can hear. “I don’t know how, but they’re on the far side of the island. Their goons ambushed us – the Navigator had figured out the maps, and Thorin entrusted them to me.”

“And you _ran_?” Dwalin growled.

“I followed a direct order from His Royal Highness Thorin, son of Thráin. Now, if we hurry, we might be able to stop the _Necromancer_ from taking his head.”

Dwalin jerked away at once and shouted to the crew, “To the ship! Beat to quarters!”

 

 .earlier.

 

“Well, well, well,” the largest of the three new land-walkers said. His voice was deep and oily, and he swung his axe back and forth a few times. “What do we have here?”

Thorin remained silent, his jaw clenched.

Another of the newcomers grinned, and Bilbo wrinkled his nose in disgust. Most of the land-walker’s teeth were missing, and what remained looked utterly rotten.

“Looks like a sea-cap’n, Tom.”

“I’m finkin’ you’d be right ‘bout that, Bert. And! Not just any ol’ sea-cap’n, oh no!” All three land-walkers chuckled.

Thorin shifted his stance. “Nori,” he said, quiet enough that only the Thief and Bilbo could hear, “If this goes sour, take the maps back to the ship.”

“Understood,” came Nori’s murmured reply.

Thorin called out to the other land-walkers, “What do you want?” He raised his sword.

“Not many visitors come t’our rock, Your Royal Princeliness. Been awhile, it has.”

“It has, it has,” the other two land-walkers echoed. They slowly began fanning out, and Bilbo could feel their predatory gazes on him. It was eerily similar to being watched by sharks.

The leader of the three continued, “Last bloke we saw made us an offer. There’s a mighty big price on yer head, Exile. We got offered a nice reward.”

“ _Huge_ reward.”

“And I think we’ll be collectin’ that reward,” finished the leader.

Thorin practically snarled his response. “Come on, then. What are you waiting for?”

The three land-walkers let out a chorus of delighted howls before charging forward, weapons raised high. Bilbo’s heart felt like it was going to beat straight out of his chest, but he tightened his grip on his sword and concentrated on the land-walker closest to him – it was the one with the cutlass, thank Ulmo.

Nori danced out of reach of the club-wielder; Thorin dodged the other man’s swinging axe. The one approaching Bilbo sneered at him and slashed at his middle. Bilbo lunged backwards and to one side, trying to remember what Ferris had been trying to teach him. All his frantic mind could come up with was _stab ‘em, stab ‘em._ Fearfully, he bared his teeth at the land-walker and stepped forward. The land-walker only laughed at him before bringing his cutlass back down. Bilbo managed to jerk up his smallsword just in time, and the scream of metal-on-metal grated on his ears. He ignored the sharp, jarring vibration from the collision and lunged forward again, aiming for the land-walker’s stomach. The land-walker parried his blow and let out a guffaw of laughter. He may have been huge, but he was by no means some sort of slow, lumbering troll.

“Where the hell’d they find you? Can’t even swing a fuckin’ sword!”

A furious noise left Bilbo from between his clenched teeth. He danced away from the cutlass again, but this time, instead of backing away, he lunged forward and flicked his sword at the land-walker’s face. He was too slow jerking away, and the point of Bilbo’s blade slashed across his cheek. The cut spilled a thin sheet of blood down his face, and the land-walker cursed loudly.

“You’ll get yours! You’re dead!” he bellowed and charged forward. _Just like a shark,_ Bilbo noticed, and the merman slid to one side right before the land-walker could slice him in half. Quickly, he rounded on the land-walker’s turned back and stabbed. The angle was bad, though, and the point of his blade jabbed into the back of the land-walker’s thigh instead of his lower back.

The land-walker howled and staggered when he felt the metal pierce him, and the howl quickly changed to a furious yell.

“It’s not for _swinging,_ ” Bilbo hissed, forcing the sword deeper into the man’s leg. “It’s for _stabbing_.” He yanked the sword backwards, and it left the land-walker’s body with a slick scrape of metal on flesh.

The land-walker stumbled forward and nearly fell as he turned around to face Bilbo. The hand not holding the cutlass clutched tightly at his leg, and Bilbo could see the blood beginning to ooze through his trousers and over his fingers. Pointing his sword at the man, Bilbo watched him carefully. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Nori aiming a kick at his opponent’s knees. He couldn’t see Thorin, but he could hear the captain somewhere behind him.

Nori’s kick must have connected, because the next time Bilbo glanced over, the land-walker was on the ground screaming obscenities at the Thief. Very quickly, Nori pounced on the land-walker and brought one of his knives up to the man’s throat.

“I’ll fuckin’ kill you,” Bilbo’s land-walker growled, suddenly much closer than the merman remembered him being earlier, and slashed at Bilbo’s sword hand. He missed, but Bilbo’s dodge brought him within arm’s reach. The land-walker grabbed him by the hair, his bloody hand fisting in the curls and yanking sharply. Bilbo let out a startled cry and automatically ducked into the pull in an attempt to lessen the pain. Out of nowhere, the heavy pommel of the land-walker’s cutlass smashed into Bilbo’s face, and his vision went white.

The next thing he knew, he was being dragged backward against the land-walker’s body. His sword fell from his nerveless fingers, and blood was streaming from his nose into his mouth and down his chin. He shook his dazed head to try and clear it, but the movement alerted him to the fact that the cutlass was hovering dangerously close to his throat. A sharp line of pain blossomed just beneath his chin, and he hissed as he tried to draw back.

The land-walker chuckled in his ear and pulled harder at Bilbo’s hair. “Got you now, don’t I? Maybe you’ll fetch a pretty price somewhere, hm? Those Easterners have slaves, I’ve heard.” He pressed the edge of the cutlass harder against Bilbo’s throat and yelled across the clearing. “It seems you’ve got somethin’ of a problem, Your Highness!”

Bilbo twisted in the land-walker’s grip and tried to trip up the already wounded man. Even injured, the land-walker was too big for someone of Bilbo’s size to bring down, however, and he only succeeded in having his own feet stomped on mercilessly. He spat a murúch curse and tried to bite the hand holding the sword, still twisting and pulling at the land-walker’s arms. His teeth clacked shut on empty air. He shoved at the cutlass again, but the land-walker quickly freed the hilt of the sword from Bilbo’s hand and brought the pommel down _hard_ on the merman’s head.

His vision went wobbly for a moment, and this time when he came to, there was a thick forearm around his neck. The land-walker was slowly tightening his arms, and air was barely getting to Bilbo’s lungs. He scrabbled at the land-walker’s arms, gasping.

“Oi! Tom! Lookit this little shit wiggle!” He squeezed harder, and Bilbo bucked in his grip. The edges of his vision went a little fuzzy, and his gills started to flutter dryly.

“Give it up, Oakenshield,” Bilbo heard the one called Tom say. “Give it up, or Bert’ll pop hs head off.”

Bilbo saw Thorin deflect another blow from Tom’s axe and dance backwards out of reach. His eyes were fixed on Bilbo and Bert.

The merman tried to shake his head at Thorin. “No, don’t you dare!” he croaked. Bert’s arm was like a steel bar across his windpipe.

“I’ve seen him do it, Oakenshield. Popped some bloke’s head straight off back in Wilderland three years ago. Funniest shit I ever saw, the way the eyes bugged out righ’ when his neck broke!”

Thorin dodged another swing of the axe. He tried to slip past Tom to get to Bert, but the land-walker engaged him again.

Suddenly, the third land-walker, the one Nori had been fighting, cried out, “Hey! He’s getting’ away!”

Everyone’s attention immediately snapped to the last land-walker. The man was waving frantically in the direction of Nori’s swiftly retreating back. The redhead sprinted into the forest without looking back. Bert’s grip on Bilbo loosened; air had never tasted so sweet – but rage roared up inside him, and he twisted down. When Bert tried to grab him again, he rolled away, toward his fallen sword. He locked his fingers around the hilt and scrabbled in the dirt, trying to regain his footing. He heard a snort of laughter behind him, and the last thing he saw was a heavy boot coming straight for the side of his head.

 

He awoke with a jerk, breathing heavily as he squinted against the sudden bright sunlight.

“Well, look who decided to join us,” a voice said. Someone else grumbled unintelligibly.

Bilbo shook his head to clear it and blinked. He heard water lapping against wood, and his instincts kicked in. He lunged toward the sound – _dive dive dive away into the dark_ – but something snatched him back and he tumbled painfully to the floor.

“Oh, no you don’t.” Someone hauled him back up by the collar of his shirt and shoved him back into a seated position. He listed to one side and wound up with a face full of fabric. When the throbbing in his head eased somewhat, he leaned back and opened his eyes. He was in a rowboat, a grungy, half-rotted dingy. His hands were bound, and he looked up from the painfully tight bindings to glare at the three land-walkers. They scowled back.

Bert leaned forward over his oar and jabbed a finger at him. “You’ll pay for what you done to m’leg. Just you wait. We get our money for his kingliness over here, but there ain’t no kinda bounty on your head. So we get t’keep you. Gonna make you scream little man-”

“Fuck off,” Thorin growled from next to Bilbo. He, too, was bound, and it had been his shoulder Bilbo had been leaning on earlier. A dark bruise was blooming around his eye and dried blood trailed from his nose. Bilbo stared at him, bewildered. Surely Thorin had not been defeated?

“What,” he started, but Bert talked over him as he steadily rowed the dingy.

“You’ll get yours, too, Oakenshield. I’m just sorry it ain’t gonna be from us.”

Bilbo looked around, trying to figure out where they were. He didn’t immediately recognize the beach they were slowly rowing away from, but it looked like the opposite face of Amon Ereb. He twisted, casting about for some clue, and froze when he caught sight of their apparent destination.

A great, dark monster of a ship was waiting for them. The masts, bare of sails, reached to impossible heights. The black wood seemed to absorb the sunlight, creating a sickly haze above and below the surface. The _Necromancer,_ the gods-damned _Necromancer_ , was waiting for them.

“How-?” he breathed. Thorin shook his head, jaw clenched. Bilbo looked to the water again, desperately trying to gauge their chances if he just jumped. Should he take the ring off now or after he made it to the water? He’d have to use his teeth on the ropes – probably have to slide the ring off that way, too – and somehow get Thorin down and away beneath the sea.

The _Necromancer_ loomed overhead. The crew jeered at them from the ropes and yardarms, causing Bert’s satisfied smirk to deepen. Their little boat bumped against the sticky, black hull of the ship, and ropes were lowered from on high. Now, it had to be _now_ – Bilbo tensed, ready to jump, but both Bert and Tom grabbed him, one by the hair and the other by his bound wrists.

“You first!” they told him, tying one of the ropes to his bonds and shoving him at the steps of the ship’s ladder. The rope went taught, yanking his arms above his head, and he scrabbled at the ladder. The cruel laughter on deck increased in volume every time he slipped. Thorin was shoved up after him, and together they were hauled bodily over the railing. Bilbo fell onto the deck in a painful sprawl, his bound hands unable to ease the collision. Hands snatched at the back of his jacket, hauling him upright; he lurched away from the grimy, leering crewmembers and as close to Thorin as possible.

“Took you long enough,” one of them shouted over the railing to where Bert and his companions were still in their boat.

“Fuck you, where’s our money?”

The crewmen turned from tormenting Bilbo and Thorin to glare as one over the side of the _Necromancer_.

Bert continued, heedless of their ire, “We were promised a reward for the exile’s capture!”

A low hissing came down from the rigging and was picked up by the rest of the crew. Bilbo glanced up at Thorin, but the captain’s eyes were trained on a nearby crewman – specifically the long knife at his belt. He knocked his shoulder into Thorin’s, shaking his head subtly. _Too many,_ he mouthed. They would be dead before Thorin could cut his own bonds.

The captain gave him a hard look, but Bilbo just shook his head again. He could see a muscle jumping in Thorin’s jaw and how tense every muscle in his body seemed – but wrangling a single knife from a nearby crewmember would be nothing short of suicide, and that was decidedly _not_ how Bilbo wanted to go. He glanced around, judging the distance to the railing and wondered if the two of them could make it over the side when the crew suddenly went silent.

Thorin went utterly still next to him, the blood draining from his face. He inhaled slowly and deeply, and Bilbo heard his throat click in a choked swallow. When he glanced down at the merman, his blue eyes were dark.

“I am so sorry, Bilbo Baggins,” he breathed. Bilbo opened his mouth to ask _whatever for, this isn’t your fault_ , but the captain’s bound hands shot out and gripped Bilbo’s wrist so hard he thought he felt the bones grind. The words came out as a pained wheeze instead.

The thin voice cut through the air, sharper than any knife, high and thin. “Payment?”

Bilbo shuddered involuntarily. He felt cold all over, and a creeping sensation tickled the back of his neck. The weight of the ring on his finger was noticeable even with his hands tied as tightly as they were. He looked, trying to see _who-what_ spoke with a voice such as that, but he couldn’t see around the crew surrounding him and Thorin.

“Thorin,” he breathed, but the captain didn’t acknowledge him; he was staring at the far side of the ship, his jaw clenched and the line of his shoulders tight.

“A reward?” the voice was closer now.

“We signed a contract.” Tom’s confidence failed, making the statement more of a question.

“Interesting.”

Bilbo caught a glimpse of pale hair, but that was all before the crowd closed in again.

The voice continued, “I am … grateful,” it mocked, “for your delivery of the good captain. Your presence is no longer required.”

A low cackling sounded from above; the harsh laughter traveled down from the rigging to the rest of the crew, and soon they were howling with it. Without warning, rifle reports cracked through the air. Pained shouts came from over the railing.

The laughter continued for another several minutes, punctuated by calls of “their eyes, aim for their eyes!” and “ten points for each finger!”

“Enough.” The voice split the air. Bilbo knew it had to be loud, but it felt like a sinister whisper, like breath on the back of his neck, and he couldn’t help but think of dark water and gleaming teeth.

The crew ceased their fun at once and snapped to attention. They began to part in front of Bilbo and Thorin, creating a path to the starboard side of the ship. A figure waited at the end of the cleared space.

“Your Royal Highness,” he said as he strode forward on silent feet. “It is indeed a _distinct_ pleasure having you aboard my ship.” His boots ended just over the tops of his knees, and a crimson coat hung perfectly straight off the cut of his shoulders. The color was deep, and something about it made Bilbo’s eyes hurt. He jerked his gaze past stocky shoulders to rest on a pair of washed out eyes, their irises coated by milky film. Despite this, the man before them appeared to be looking directly at Thorin. “It’s been too long.”

“Not long enough,” Thorin spit out from between clenched teeth. He shifted his weight in order to put Bilbo behind him, but the blind man focused in on the movement immediately, his head tilting to one side like a bird’s.

“Oh,” he murmured, taking another step closer. “Captain, you’ve brought along a companion.”

Bilbo avoided the clouded gaze as best he could, shrinking away from the sheer _wrongness_ he could feel emanating from this being. He took a step backwards toward the rail without thinking, and rough hands quickly shoved him forward again. He hissed and bared his teeth, fear and adrenaline quickly rising inside him.

“How intriguing,” the being said in a low murmur before snapping, “Bring him.”

The crew surged forward to grab Bilbo while others held Thorin back. The captain struggled and cursed as Bilbo was dragged the last few feet to stand before the enemy. Heart racing, Bilbo stared up at the figure before him – the horrible _wrong wrong wrong_ sensation was nearly tangible at this distance, and Bilbo could feel the beginnings of a scream building in the back of his throat. He swallowed it down, though, and bared his teeth up at the white eyes.

His faltering bravado was met with a slow smirk. “Captain,” the blind man said, his dead gaze never leaving Bilbo, “you must tell me where you found such a lively…” He trailed off, eyes fixed on Bilbo’s neck. Without warning, a pale hand shot out and gripped Bilbo by the chin. He cried out at the unnaturally icy touch. The hand forced him to tilt his head to one side and bare his neck, and the exposure set his heart racing and his instincts screaming. He let out a thin, panicked whine and began to struggle, but the man’s grip on him was inescapable. The man’s other hand came up as well, and Bilbo froze when a finger grazed the side of his neck. His thoughts stuttered to a halt.

“What have we here?” The words were barely above a whisper. With almost gentle precision, the man’s fingernail found the hidden seam of Bilbo’s gills. “My, my… you are far from your cave, aren’t you? And legs!” The finger lifted away from a moment to gesture grandly at Bilbo’s booted feet. “We had no idea that your kind could _change_. This is excellent news, indeed.”

“No, no, no,” the plea slipped from Bilbo’s lips when the finger returned to trace the curve of his neck.

“No?” The smirk grew into a smile with too many teeth. “Quite right.” The man returned his attention to Thorin, and Bilbo sagged to one side with relief. “Your Royal Highness, I must inform you that _no_ , your companion will not be joining you again.” He pushed Bilbo into the waiting arms of nearby crewmen. “Hold him.”

Bilbo choked on a sob when the icy hands released him. _Never_ , never in his life had he been so powerless, so terrified. Not even his parents’ death. The mean, rough grip of the crewmen shoved him upright, and he tried to shake the cold, sluggish sensation running through his body. He forced himself to look up from the deck; the _Necromancer_ ’s captain’s back was to him now as he strode toward Thorin. Bilbo could see the strain and the rage in his captain’s entire body, and Thorin’s furious silence bolstered his own spirits slightly.

“A pity that our time together has to come to an end,” the blind man said.

Thorin’s gaze was filled with pure anger. “What do you want with him, Angmar?”

“So, he hasn’t told you?”

Thorin ignored the question. “He will not be another one of your playthings.”

This startled a sharp laugh out of the _Necromancer_ ’s captain. “You are welcome to whatever thoughts and fantasies you wish during your final moments, Your Royal Highness.” He made a gesture with one hand, and a crewman came forward bearing a cannonball and a length of chain. Bilbo’s breath left him in a pained rush as he watched them secure the weight to Thorin’s ankles.

Angmar addressed his crew, “Bring out the plank.” They cheered in response, and a long, thin board was quickly brought up from the dark bowels of the ship. They secured it to the deck, leaving the majority of it hanging out over the water. One of the crew picked up the cannonball and placed it in Thorin’s still-bound hands.

“Have a nice swim,” Bilbo heard the crewman say, and he found himself struggling wildly against the grip of those holding him, half of a panic-fueled plan forming in his mind.

Thorin glanced up from the hideous black surface of the cannonball and met Bilbo’s gaze across the deck. He opened his mouth as if to call out, but a crewman shoved him toward the plank. He nearly fell, the chain and rope fouling up around his ankles, and the crew jeered in response. They herded Thorin out onto the shuddering plank of wood; it dipped and came close to dumping Thorin into the sea almost immediately.

When he found his footing, Thorin looked directly at Angmar. “Your time will come, and when it does, I will find you in hell.”

The _Necromancer_ ’s captain tilted his head to one side. “Well, while you’re waiting, give your regards to your father and brother for me, will you?” he asked, false-innocence dripping from every word.

All the blood drained from Thorin’s face. “What,” he gasped.

“Oh! You hadn’t heard. May I offer my sincerest condolences? We passed by their wreckage on our way to you.” Angmar shook his head. “A pity.”

“No. No!” Thorin’s face contorted with fury, and he lunged toward Angmar.

The crew instantly leaped forward as well, snarling and spoiling for a fight. The hands on Bilbo loosened, and he seized the chance. He twisted down and away from those holding him; when a hand reached for him, he sank his teeth into the grimy flesh. Disgusting blood painted the inside of his mouth, and he spat it into a second crewman’s face as he darted across the deck. Angmar turned, astonishment flickering across his features for a moment, and he reached for the sword hanging beneath his crimson coat. Bilbo dodged the last few men and stumbled out onto the plank.

Surprise warred with anger and despair on Thorin’s face when Bilbo reached him. The plank dipped even further beneath their combined weight, and for a moment Bilbo feared he had made a terrible mistake.

“What are you doing?” Thorin hissed as they fought for balance. The wood creaked behind them, and Bilbo turned to see one of Angmar’s men stepping out onto the board toward them.

“Halt!” Angmar snapped over the angry shouting of his crew. The crewman stepped back from the plank reluctantly. The steel of Angmar’s sword contrasted sharply against the pale hand that gripped it. Rage poured from his clouded eyes; Bilbo flinched when the gaze settled on him. “So. You have chosen to end your life here? So be it.” He raised his sword and looked down the blade at Bilbo. “Shoot him,” he ordered, and a dozen guns were raised in response.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> man I have been so far away from this fic for so long and I apologize. I got stuck and then I got disinterested and then I got into school and so on and so forth. but here we are again for now. thank you for all your lovely comments!!!! <3
> 
> -duri


	18. Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They hit the ocean in a graceless sprawl, Thorin instantly sinking under the weight of the cannonball. The impact drove the air from Bilbo’s lungs, and he floundered, bullets peppering the water around him. The rope binding his hands was foul in his mouth, but it separated easily enough on his sharp teeth. Boots and trousers were flung away to float or sink; it did not matter. Shots continued to hit the water around him. Finally free of the land-walker clothing, he twisted and clawed his way deeper underwater. A sharp, stabbing pain his thigh – the change continued. The pop! of his hips was obscenely loud in the water, and he held in the pained shout as he swam through the change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all deserve better

Bilbo whirled, teeth pulling the ring from his finger Angmar’s rage-filled gaze was like fire crawling up his spine. He shoved the golden band into Thorin’s pocket and shouted, “Go!”

The first guns cocked behind them as he shoved with both hands at Thorin’s chest. The captain’s balance wavered. “Wh-?”

“Listen to me! The ring, my ring, it’s in your pocket. Don’t lose it, whatever happens don’t-” The first shot cracked behind them. Bilbo waited for the impact, his entire being tensed and his hands curled into fists on Thorin’s chest. The only pain he felt was the beginning of the change low in his abdomen. The shot had missed.

Thorin was reaching back for Bilbo, trying to step around the merman and block him from Angmar’s crew. Bilbo shook his head and swallowed a pained whine. The change was pinching at his thighs and feet.

The water was so far down, yet so close. He planted both hands in the center of the captain’s chest once more. “Jump! Go!” Bilbo threw his weight into the shove, and over they went. Thorin lost his grip on the chained cannonball and was yanked sharply downward. A volley of gunfire exploded at his back as Bilbo dove off the end of the plank. The pain of the change was a knot in his center as he tumbled over, and the throb quickly radiated down into his hips and thighs. More shots followed, the roar of gunpowder drowning out Angmar’s furious scream.

They hit the ocean in a graceless sprawl, Thorin instantly sinking under the weight of the cannonball. The impact drove the air from Bilbo’s lungs, and he floundered, bullets peppering the water around him.  The rope binding his hands was foul in his mouth, but it separated easily enough on his sharp teeth. Boots and trousers were flung away to float or sink; it did not matter. Shots continued to hit the water around him. Finally free of the land-walker clothing, he twisted and clawed his way deeper underwater. A sharp, stabbing pain his thigh – the change continued. The _pop!_ of his hips was obscenely loud in the water, and he held in the pained shout as he swam through the change.

He had to reach Thorin, had to pull him to the deep and away from the monster above. Phantom hands traced his gills.

The pain in his thigh had not abated, and the water dragged at his tail uncomfortably. Without slowing, he reached down to press on his tail – had the change been interrupted by his frantic pace?

His fingers connected with his tail, and Bilbo’s vision went white.

When he came to, he was floating limp several feet below the surface. The water around him was pink. A high-pitched ringing filled his ears. He could feel his heart pounding against his ribs. Had the change gone wrong? He rolled, pulling up his tail. Fire shot through him, but it quickly turned cold when he found what was wrong.

A small, ragged hole glared up at him. Dark blood mixed with the sea with each pulse of his racing heart. He had been shot. Shot. Blood continued to waft from the wound, and the red filled his mind.

Blood would bring sharks, with their cold, dead eyes and flashing teeth.

 _No, no time for this. Not today. Not right now_ , Bilbo thought, stripping out of his land-walker shirt and winding it around his tail. A circle of smudged crimson instantly showed through the thin material. Bilbo swallowed the pain and shook his head. It would be fine.

He twisted and pushed deeper below the surface. The makeshift bandage hindered him, and he chose to concentrate on that rather than the pain. He forced his hips to roll with every stroke of his tail, sending him down after Thorin.

The captain, however, was nowhere in sight. The sea below was dark, with no smooth, sandy floor waiting to halt the captain’s descent. Bilbo pushed harder, willing the rush of water to pull the pain from him with every stroke.

Each wave of his tail was more powerful than the last, and it was only seconds before he spotted the white of Thorin’s shirt in the gloom below. A sporadic trail of bubbles led from the captain to the surface.

 _A trench,_ Bilbo realized as he glanced at the rock appearing out of the darkness below. _That monster anchored his ship over a thrice cursed trench._ He still could not see the bottom. The walls of the trench rose around him. Light faded into shadow.

Thorin was struggling with the chain around his ankles when Bilbo reached him. There was no way he would be able to free himself without a knife for the rope and another set of hands for the cannonball. Bilbo darted passed the captain and came up beneath him, catching the ball and heaving it up into Thorin’s hands. The captain let out of muffled shout of surprise, and his eyes squinted against the darkness.

With the cannonball in Thorin’s hands, the chain went slack enough for Bilbo to wrestle it down over the captain’s boots. The moment the chain was free, he surged upward and around Thorin and grabbed him under his arms. The captain flailed for a moment, and the ball was ripped from his grasp by the sheer force of their ascent.

Just as they crested the lip of the trench, Thorin began to jerk. With his hands still bound, he started clawing at the water and kicking harder toward the surface. A heavy, booted foot connected with Bilbo’s hip, and the merman’s vision went white for the second time.

He came to in the shadow of the trench, Thorin above him swimming frantically for the surface. Bilbo fearfully glanced at his hip. His makeshift bandage was gone. Blood drifted out of the wound, and his tail felt heavy. The water around him was icy, much colder than it had any right to be.

 _No._ He took a deep breath, using the fresh seawater to clear his head. The wound was _nothing_ , he told himself as he pressed down on the hole with the heel of his hand. Hot, ugly pain pulsed inward. Bilbo let himself scream, let the sound and the sensation force his body into cooperating. On the tail end of the shout, he threw his body into motion, a thin stream of red trailing in his wake. The edge of the trench flew by in a blur.

Ahead, Thorin was rapidly weakening. Bilbo knew that land-walkers could only hold their breath for so long, and Thorin had to be reaching his limit. Bilbo didn’t slow when he reached the captain; he fisted both hands in the back of Thorin’s shirt and _heaved_.

Bilbo felt more than saw a shadow fall over them as they rose. The _Necromancer_ , he remembered. The pale, hateful monster on board was probably waiting for them to resurface. Them, or their corpses. But, as he glanced up, Bilbo felt something like hope rise in his chest.

The _Necromancer_ was above them, but a second shadow had joined Angmar’s ship’s. It had to be the _Orcrist,_ it had to be! The merman saw a fiery flash burst from the side of Thorin’s ship, and a resounding _boom_ pulsed down through the water. Debris instantly appeared around the _Necromancer_ ’s hull. _Yavanna save them,_ Bilbo thought, _they had caught Angmar by surprise._

He tightened his grip on Thorin and aimed for their ship. They would make it. The surface was seconds away. They would make it.

The hole in his flesh pulsed with every downward stroke of his tail. He could barely feel his hands. Thorin jerked, out of air and fighting to stay conscious. The surface was _right_ _there._

They broke through the waves on the far side of the _Orcrist_. Thorin’s head lolled back and forth, his eyes rolled far back in his skull. Bilbo shook the captain’s shoulders, his own heart somewhere between utterly stopped and beating out of his chest.

“Thorin! Thorin, breathe! We made it, you have to breathe.” His own voice was slurred, his tail was leaden beneath him, and, Ulmo’s fucking fins, he was _cold_. A wave sloshed over their heads as a second round of cannon fire exploded from the _Orcrist._ The _Necromancer_ was quick to respond.

Bilbo resurfaced, hacking and wheezing as air stung the back of his throat. “Thorin.”

How did you make a land-walker breathe? He shoved at the captain’s chest, but only succeeded in throwing more water over Thorin’s slack face. Some sort of jolt to the senses?

“Come on,” he mumbled, and struck the captain across the face. His beard scraped the palm of Bilbo’s hand, and the merman had a second to cringe at the red mark on Thorin’s cheek before the captain inhaled with a shout.

The land-walker flailed, pushing himself out of Bilbo’s grasp, and he sank for a moment. He resurfaced, spitting up water and sucking in as much air as possible.

“Wh-” he coughed out. “How?”

A voice called out above them, “Captain! It’s the captain!”

Bilbo could see land-walkers at the railing, their features indistinct from this distance. He tore at the captain’s bindings until the rope fell away.

“Go, swim,” he said, shoving Thorin’s shoulder. His head slipped below the surface, his thoughts far away and muddled. Something grabbed at him and hauled back to the surface.

“Bilbo.” Thorin’s voice was ragged. “Come on, stay with me. Navigator, eyes open!”  The captain shook him. A heavy hand grabbed the side of his head and steadied him. “Look at me, you idiot.”

Bilbo forced his eyes open. “Idiot?” He couldn’t feel his hands.

“Of course you hear that part. Come on, it’s not far.”

Hands pulled at him. He sucked in a lungful of sharp, salty air and shook his head. A small rowboat was being lowered from the _Orcrist_. Thorin was trying to pull him along, but Bilbo pushed away the captain’s hands.

“You first,” he told Thorin as the small boat splashed down in front of them. The captain didn’t argue. He heaved himself over the side of the rowboat with a weary grunt. The _Orcrist_ fired another volley, and the ship leaned with the recoil. Bilbo was hit full in the face with the rowboat, knocking him down beneath the surf once more.

He came up, sputtering weakly, several tail lengths behind the _Orcrist_. Thorin was shouting for him. The ship was moving; it would not be able to stand against the _Necromancer_ for very long. A quick escape was their only hope.

A breath of air became an inhalation of seawater as Bilbo went under again. Everything was slow and foggy. Was he moving? He pulled with his arms until he hit the _Orcrist’_ s hull. Air found him. Water dribbled from his mouth, and it tasted strongly of iron and bile. Thorin’s voice was louder, and a hand grabbed his.

He hooked one arm over the side of the rowboat just as it began to rise. The wood scraped his body as he tried to haul himself aboard. A thin whine rasped out past his lips, and he reached down with his other hand to press on his tail.

“Navigator?” Thorin fell forward onto his knees opposite Bilbo. The merman lifted his hand. Blood and seawater slid down his fingers and over his wrist. “Sea gods, Bilbo, what happened? Here, I’ve got you.”

The captain grabbed Bilbo’s arms. “On three – one, two, _three_.” He heaved backwards, and Bilbo’s mind was screaming _jumppushintotheboatsafetythorinsafety._ He felt disjointed, unattached, as he curled his fins beneath him and pushed.

All hell broke loose.

A hoarse shout tore from throat. His hips cleared the water, followed by a few feet of his tail.

Thorin shouted in alarm, releasing the merman and falling backwards into the bottom of the rowboat.

When Thorin let go, Bilbo’s hips landed heavily on the boat’s edge, and he let out a full-throated scream.

The crew above them began shouting as well. Another round of cannon fire rocked the _Orcrist_. Thorin scrambled backward to the far end of the small boat, swearing loudly. The boat lurched upward out of the water; Bilbo’s tail hung straight down below him, bared to the world. Blood and water streamed down the length of his tail. He closed his eyes, screaming when the weight of his own tail began pulling him over the side of the boat. The wound in his thigh stretched, and he thought he might rip in half. He scrabbled for purchase on the wood, digging his nails into the bottom and clinging with all his might. The boat rose higher and higher; as soon as the railing was within reach, Thorin swung up and over onto the deck.

A high keening sound rippled out from Bilbo’s gills. The boat continued to rise until it swung over the railing. The merman could barely hear through the pain, but he knew Thorin was shouting over the frantic voices of the crew. Slowly, the boat drifted over the deck; Bilbo’s tail whacked into the railing as the boat moved, and the jolt ripped him from the rowboat. He crashed down onto the deck, and the world went completely white before fading to grey.

Darkness followed the grey. He wavered in and out of consciousness. The land-walkers were shouting – Thorin had fallen silent, but everyone else was so _loud_ and Bilbo just wanted it all to stop –

Gandalf’s powerful voice boomed over the deck, cutting the shouting down to a dull roar. The wizard spoke again, his voice softer and gentler. He was speaking to Bilbo, the merman realized.

“ – you hear me? Bilbo?”

Bilbo couldn’t feel anything below his waist at this point. He thought there was a reason he should care, but he just couldn’t seem to hold on to the idea. Everything was slipping.

Another voice joined Gandalf’s above his head. Oín.

“I’m no fish doctor, you damned charlatan. Wizard or no, you brought this creature-”

Gandalf’s voice boomed again. Bilbo couldn’t make out the words.

“I could help him if he had human parts – but he doesn’t! He’s got a fucking tail!”

Gandalf’s blue eyes appeared over Bilbo. “The ring?” he asked quickly. Or did he say it slowly? Bilbo thought it might be both. A shiver wracked his entire body. It shouldn’t be cold. Or should it? Something was wrong?

“Where is the ring, Bilbo?” Gandalf grabbed both of Bilbo’s hands, peered at his fingers, and carefully laid them on the deck. He disappeared from the merman’s line of sight.

“The ring! The ring he usually wears! _Where is it?_ ”

Silence.

Bilbo could hear his heart thumping inside of him. It sounded crooked.

“He – he threw it at me, before he pushed-” The top of Thorin’s head wavered at the edge of Bilbo’s vision. He had never heard the captain struggle for words. What had happened?

He could feel a sort of _pressure_ somewhere, but it was wrong – wrong, and hot, too hot –

“More linens!” Oín shouted, and Bilbo’s vision cleared up in a wave of pain as the surgeon pressed down hard with both hands on the bullet wound. Gandalf appeared beside him and grabbed his left hand. Bilbo spied the glint of gold and was filled with a sudden terror. He shouldn’t let that ring touch him.

“ _NOO NO – NO MORE – NOT AGAIN – GANDALF PLEASE I DON’T WANT TO – GANDALF IT HURTS – ”_

“Someone hold him – hold his, his tail, hold his tail down!”

Hands forced his tail to the deck and pinned it there. He hadn’t even realized he was thrashing. Gandalf held his hand in an iron grip; the wizard looked grimly at Bilbo, closed his eyes, and forced the ring onto the merman’s finger. 

The splitting began immediately. Bilbo let out a blood-curdling scream when his bones broke and shifted and twisted and stretched. He scales peeled away in bloody strips. The muscles in his thighs began to uncurl and roll to the sides, taking the wound with them. The wound passed over a jut of bone, and when his hips re-socketed, Bilbo’s scream was choked off. His eyes rolled back into his head, and he knew no more.

 

Thorin fell back on the deck. Blood was smeared on his hands and all down his front. The Navigator – the creature’s blood. A creature straight out of myth, right out of the stories Dís had whispered to her boys, before. The slight, annoying man Gandalf had foisted on him, citing oceanic knowledge and invaluable assistance – all of it a lie.

It was sprawled on his quarterdeck, blood and water pooled beneath it. The wizard and Oín were crouched over it, pressing rapidly reddening linens to its thigh. Long strips of scales littered the deck around them. The air stank of fish and blood and bile.

Thorin turned away and heaved himself to his feet. The _Necromancer_ was behind them, its foremast creaking and beginning to list to one side. A tangle of spars and sail hung from the tops of Angmar’s ship. The dark warship was making no attempt to follow, and there was enough distance between them to save the _Orcrist_ from Angmar’s cannons.

Thorin thanked the gods for his crew, for their skill and for their hearts.

“Dwalin!” His voice was deeper, hoarse from nearly drowning. The Navigator had saved – the Navigator was a creature, a lie.

His quartermaster called back from astern, “Captain! Orders?” He did not spare a glance for the chaos on the deck. For this, Thorin was grateful.

“Away, as fast as possible. Full sail.” He paused, wondered if Nori had managed to save the maps. “North. For now.”

Dwalin nodded and repeated his instructions for the whole crew to hear. The men hesitated, their attention glued to the wizard and the surgeon and the creature. Dwalin shouted again, and they leapt into action, though they avoided the quarterdeck as much as possible.

Thorin walked to the stern of his ship and leaned heavily on the railing. His hands left bloody smears on the wood, and he snarled at the sight. There were scales on his shirt. He had been the closest when the wizard had yelled for help. The Navigator’s _tail_ had writhed beneath him, nearly throwing him aside until someone else had come forward. And the transformation…

He dug his fingernails into the railing. A lie. All of it a lie.

Heavy footsteps drew his attention.

“Thorin,” Dwalin said as he joined the captain at the rail. “Was it him?”

“Yes. Angmar commands the _Necromancer_. He sought to humiliate me – chained shot about my ankles.”

The quartermaster grunted and spat over the railing. “No honor amongst monsters.”

“Indeed.” He paused, Angmar’s parting words weighing heavily in his mind. “Have there been any messages?”

He could sense his quartermaster’s curious gaze. “No, Captain. Are you expecting word from the Lady Dís?”

“Angmar… implied he had encountered my fool brother. And Father.”

Dwalin grunted again. “A lie to enrage you? Lord Thrain took the _Moria_ north, playing cat and mouse with Elrond’s nonsensical vessels.”

Behind them, Thorin heard the wizard and Oín shouting at one another. Blood was beginning to congeal beneath his nails. “Yes. A lie. A great deal of those coming to light lately.”

“The wizard-”

“I would bar him from this ship if I knew how. Pox take him! And that creature,” the word was sour in his mouth, “that creature of his, too.” He pounded his fist against the railing.

Dwalin remained silent.

“Inform Gloín – I want them under guard, day and night.”

“For how long?”

“Until I decide what to do with their wretched hides!”

 Dwalin snapped to attention at his tone. “Consider it done, Captain.” He marched from Thorin’s side, leaving the captain to stew in his anger.

Just as the quartermaster’s feet hit the steps, Thorin called back to him. “Dwalin… the boys?” His voice was noticeably calmer.

“Both whole and hale, Captain. Excited by the action. They ask for you already.”

He could hear the suggestion in Dwalin’s voice. “I will go to them,” he promised. “Later.”

Later. He would not subject them to the emotions currently roiling in his gut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank u to everyone who reached out and asked me about this fic, y'all are too patient and kind for a nerd like me
> 
> hmu on tumblr if u have questions/comments/concerns
> 
> \- duri

**Author's Note:**

> I am a fool for writing this right in the middle of TWO OTHER FICS. But alas, I do not give a damn. Think of it as my late start to NaNo. This is based on, inspired by, etc, pandamani's lovely drawings of mer!bilbo and pirate!thorin. Seriously, you should check it out.


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